Sibling Rivalry
by Darke Angelus
Summary: Tarble's unexpected appearance brings back terrible memories and hidden resentments that Vegeta is forced to relive all over again. Can he and his brother ever make their peace? COMPLETE
1. Calling the Bluff

A/N: The events of this story take place immediately following the 2008 Dragonball Z special: "Yo! Son Goku and his Friends Return!" If you haven't seen it, you can find the episode easily on Youtube.

* * *

Vegeta was pissed off.

For those who knew the Saiyan prince, they would all agree that this seemed to be his natural state of mind. On this particular occasion, however, the source of his tantrum and the reason for it both seemed a bit off, even for him. He was leaning over the table and shouting into Goku's face about a piece of sushi the other man had stolen from his plate. The two had transformed into their Super Saiyan forms and were close to coming to blows over the issue.

Everyone was starting to look decidedly uncomfortable until Chi Chi grabbed a huge plate loaded with chashu pork and egg rolls and slammed it down between the two combatants. "Will you both calm down? There's plenty to go around! I swear, sometimes the pair of you are worse than Goten and Trunks! Fighting over food . . . _Ridiculous!_"

The brunette was the only person on the planet who could intimidate Goku and he immediately dropped his empowered form and humbly sat down. "Sorry, honey. Sometimes I get carried away. It's really good food! Right Vegeta?"

The Saiyan prince was glowering at Chi Chi, not happy with the interruption, and looked away with a sniff as he powered down. His gaze fell on the nearby table and he met the eyes of the younger man sitting there and abruptly turned to leave, declaring, "The rest is yours, Kakarrot. I'm done."

"Wow! Thanks!" the fighter immediately began to tear into the repast with renewed enthusiasm.

Bulma watched her husband leave the pavilion and walk out into the darkness. The attacks by Abo and Kado had really done a job on the lighting and she quickly lost sight of him among the rubble of what had once been "The Mr. Satan's World-Saving Defeat of Majin Buu Super Gorgeous Hotel". Everyone else eased back into their conversations as if the interruption had never happened, but Bulma was troubled by her husband's behavior, amateurish even for him. Turning in her seat she smiled over at Gure, a petite, featureless grey alien who still appeared to be fretting over the display at the Saiyans' table. "Hey, don't worry, they do that a lot. It's kind of a game between them."

"I'm glad that my brother has made friends here," commented a soft voice and Bulma forced her eyes to meet those of the man sitting next to Gure. It was difficult for her to accept that the figure sitting there was Vegeta's brother, Tarble. It was a name that she had never heard her husband mention before this day.

The age of the newly-arrived Saiyan looked to be a mystery. Bulma knew that it wasn't possible for Tarble to be any older than thirty-nine, but he still looked like some lanky teenager. He stood about four-foot-five and barely filled the outdated armor that had once marked the soldiers of Frieza's army. Standing next to his brother, he made Vegeta look enormous. The heavy forelock falling across his high forehead added to his youthful appearance. Bulma decided it was time to do some fishing. "Yes, he has, although he would never call them that. He's been on Earth for about twelve years now. We've been married for eight. How long have the two of you been married?"

(In the background, pretending to meditate, Piccolo's left brow twitched as he listened in on the conversation with his extra-ordinary hearing. He figured that Bulma had all the subtlety of a Mack truck driving through a field of daisies.)

Tarble reached over and grabbed his mate's tiny hand and squeezed it tenderly. "Almost fifteen years. Fifteen wonderful years, haven't we, Gure?" The little female tittered in agreement.

_Nope, definitely not a teenager_, Bulma thought. "Where did you two meet?"

A troubled expression crossed Tarble's face. "King Vegeta sent me to Gure's world just before our home planet was destroyed," he said slowly.

A grave expression came over Bulma's face. "Were you sent there to kill everyone?"

The younger man's eyes widened in horror. "By the stars! No!"

"Goku," she motioned to the fighter who was still gobbling down massive amounts of food. "He was sent here as a baby to purge Earth but he injured his head and lost his memory. He grew up thinking he was human."

Tarble appeared to consider that. "You were all very fortunate. This appears to be a beautiful planet. It would have been a shame if it had been destroyed. No, I was sent to Gure's world . . . for my own protection."

"I don't understand."

"It's complicated," the Saiyan said, dropping his eyes. "I'm really not comfortable talking about it."

"Fair enough," Bulma said, trying to hide her disappointment. "So . . . when was the last time you and Vegeta saw one another?"

"I don't want to talk about that either."

That was the end of Bulma's attempt at civility. She slapped both palms down on the table, making heads turn (and Piccolo smile), and then slumped back in her seat with a huff. "I swear! Getting you damned Saiyan princes to talk about yourselves is like pulling teeth!"

Tarble met her eyes again. "I'm not a prince."

At this point, Krillin decided to lean in and join the conversation. Behind him, Yamcha, Oolong and Master Roshi were practically falling out of their chairs as they eavesdropped. "You're not? But Vegeta-"

"The son of the king isn't born as 'Vegeta'. It's a name that has to be earned. My brother was far stronger than I was. That's why he received the distinction and I didn't."

"It's more like a rank," Bulma marveled. "I never knew that. I just assumed that all male sons were born with that name."

Tarble favored her with a bitter smile. "It would have made things rather confusing."

"I suppose it would have. So, were there any others? Siblings, I mean, before your planet was destroyed?"

"None that lived," Tarble said enigmatically, and that stopped the flow of questions for awhile.

* * *

Trunks and Goten had been absent for the show of the dueling fathers and that was just as well. It would only have sparked a fevered debate about whose dad was stronger and that would have led to them brawling, as usual. Instead, they were playing among the ruins of the hotel. Abo and Cado had set their scouters aside as they devoured Chi Chi's radishes and, like true thieves, the boys had snatched them and were now trying to get them to work.

"Trunks, I can't get mine to show English. This stupid language looks like a game of Tetris!" Goten objected, fiddling with the earpiece and trying to tighten it. Its predecessor's head had been as round as a basketball.

"Me, either. I think it's called Galactic Standard. My dad can speak that, you know."

"Cool! Hey, can you read my power level?"

Trunks played with the buttons on the side and blinked as the symbols suddenly converted to text he could read. "It's over 9,000!" he yelled.

"What? It should be higher than that!" the boy bawled.

Trunks was laughing at his own genius wit. "Oh chill, I was just joking!"

"It isn't funny," a voice spoke up directly behind him and he squawked in surprise and jumped around. His father was standing there with his arms crossed. For how long was anybody's guess, he hadn't tripped either scouter's proximity alarms. Trunks tried to scan him and came up with zero and he knew that his dad's power level was higher than that. A _lot_ higher. "Wow, these are kind of useless," he said with disappointment, taking it off.

Vegeta took it from him and appeared to examine it. "They're useful as a translator, that's about all. Once everyone learned to submerge their power levels it made them redundant." He surprised both boys by suddenly crushing it in his hand and scattering the pieces to the ground. "You, too," he said to Goten. "Destroy it."

"Aw," the youth muttered but he didn't argue with the older Saiyan. He wouldn't have dared. He took it off and dropped it to the ground, stomping down on it with his foot.

"Why'd you want to do that for, dad?" Trunks asked, voicing both boys confusion.

"They're relics of the past. They have no place here," he said, staring over at the gazebo where the others were still assembled. It looked as if the pre-opening gala was finally breaking up. People were on their feet and milling about in clusters and that was usually a precursor to disbanding. That was good. He was anxious to get away from this place.

Trunks followed his gaze. "So I have an uncle, huh? That's really cool. At least he's not a psycho like Goten's uncle was."

The other boy bristled. "No fair, Trunks. I didn't even know my uncle Radditz!"

" And Gure . . . she sure looks funny but she seems really nice. Does that make her my aunt?"

"It doesn't make her anything!" Vegeta snapped at him.

Trunks recoiled in shock. "Are you angry at me? Is it because of that fight against those two soldiers?"

The Saiyan glowered at him and then passed his cold gaze to Goten, who noticeably swallowed. "The both of you were cocky and reckless. You didn't take the threat seriously at first and that could have been a fatal mistake."

"But -"

"_But_ you redeemed yourselves in time to vanquish your foes by working together," Vegeta finished in a softer voice. He was still miffed how easily Goku had tricked him and launched the finishing blow against their enemy, but he knew his frame of mind wasn't either boy's fault. At least they'd managed to hold their own. He hadn't even had time to fire off a single shot. "You did fine," he said to Trunks and glanced over at the other youth, offering him a curt nod. Then he turned, folding his arms, and gave the crowd at the gazebo his full attention. Everyone was exiting the structure, as he had hoped, but his eyes narrowed when he caught sight of his woman with two figures in tow. "No," he muttered under his breath. "Oh no, not this time. Not _them_!" he stalked off, grumbling.

Goten sidled over to his friend and whispered, "Uh, what's wrong with your dad?"

"As long as he's not mad at us, who cares?" Trunks said, elbowing his friend in the ribs and darting playfully away when the younger boy swung for him. The game was back on.

Piccolo was eyeballing Abo and Cado, who were snickering at some joke Oolong was telling them, and glanced at Goku. "So, what're we going to do about those two?"

The younger fighter shrugged. "It's not like they can do any damage here. They're pretty weak."

"To us," the Namek corrected. "According to Tarble, they were causing a lot trouble in space."

"Well, we can destroy their space pods," Krillin ventured. "That way, they can't leave Earth."

"But where would they go?" Yamcha asked. "They aren't staying in my place, that's for sure."

Goku paused for thought for a moment then turned towards the pair and yelled, "Hey! Abo and Cado! How would you like to work at my farm? You can eat all the radishes you want!"

"Goku!" Chi Chi hissed.

"Aw c'mon, honey. It'll be fun to have them around."

"They'll eat up all the profits!" the brunette squalled.

"All the radishes we want?" Abo piped up, followed by Cado who added, "Really?"

"Yep!"

"No more rations! No more rations!" Apparently pickings were slim in outer space. The pair hugged one another and engaged in a twirling, happy dance.

Krillin whispered to his best friend, "You hated farming, didn't you?"

"You have nooo idea," Goku quickly shot back. For him, anything remotely resembling work was something to be avoided at all costs.

"Well, that's settled," Piccolo rumbled approvingly. His sharp eyes darted ahead where Bulma was walking with Tarble and Gure. "Is anyone else bothered by the fact that Vegeta has a brother that none of us knew about?"

"He didn't even tell Bulma," Krillin said. "And I've got the impression that she knows a lot more about his past than we ever will."

"No doubts there," the Namek agreed. "I would have understood it if the younger one had been more powerful but Tarble is extremely weak. He couldn't be more than 1,000." _That other one, however_ . . . Piccolo eyed Gure carefully. The little female appeared innocent enough but everyone had sensed an enormous power signature when the pair had entered Earth's orbit, and it hadn't come from Tarble. The situation warranted close watching.

"It's probably out of shame," Yamcha snorted. "Knowing that prideful son-of-a-gun, he probably disowned the kid just so it wouldn't be an insult to his superior royal image."

Piccolo shook his head. "It's not shame." Vegeta had caught up to the trio and his voice immediately elevated to a raging tirade. "It's anger."

"You invited them back to Capsule Corp., didn't you? _Didn't you!_" The prince accused. His fists were clenched by his side and he glared first at Tarble, who dropped his eyes, then at his own wife who easily met his raging glare.

Bulma beamed happily at her husband as if he had brought her roses instead of attitude. "Of course I did! They've been traveling in those cramped space pods for over a year. A nice long rest in a warm bed is the least I can offer them, and it'll give us all time to catch up-"

"There will be no rest. There will be no catching up," Vegeta interrupted. "They will return to where they came from. Immediately."

Tarble took one tentative step forward. "Brother, please-"

His response was a glowing hand less than one foot from his face. "We've dealt with your threat. Your purpose here is done. It's time you left," the prince said with deadly venom.

Goku immediately phased in and grasped Vegeta's wrist and he was rewarded with a vicious uppercut that knocked him backwards a few steps. He looked back at his friend in shock, rubbing his jaw. It was rare enough when someone managed to get in a blow during a spar but Goku had been expecting resistance and still hadn't seen the punch coming. He took a look at Vegeta, a really good look, and realized he hadn't seen such rage in the smaller Saiyan since Vegeta had succumbed to being Majin two years ago. It wasn't a comparison that brought him any comfort. "Listen, just calm down-"

"Stay out of this, Kakarrot! This is a-" _Family affair_, he was going to say but couldn't force out the words. Because they were wrong. Everything about this was so damned wrong that he could barely think straight. "This is none of your business."

"Well, it certainly is mine," Bulma said in a firmer voice, beginning to get a grasp that this was becoming a serious matter. "They're my brother and sister-in-law and they're coming home for as long as they want."

"I won't stay under the same roof as him! I won't!"

"Fine, be that way," Bulma sighed.

"You think I'm bluffing?"

"It's one of the things you do best!" she suddenly shouted in his face. "How many times have I heard that threat over the years every time I so much as throw a party? You piss and you moan and, in the end, you stick around. This isn't any different so- yes, I'm calling your bluff, tough guy!"

Vegeta's eyes narrowed to bare slits and his face turned alarmingly red. All of the fighters felt his ki suddenly surge and began to get into defensive stances but the prince blasted off into the night sky without another word or gesture, setting a distinct course for Capsule Corp.

"Uh, Bulma," Krillin was the first to speak up. "Do you think that was a smart thing to do?"

"Oh, don't mind him," she dismissed with an absent wave. "He'll spend the night sulking in the gravity simulator and then come down to breakfast like nothing's ever happened. That's what he does."

To Piccolo, it seemed that the heiress wasn't taking the situation quite as seriously as her husband but wasn't sure it was his place to point that out. Vegeta's temper was shorter then his height and he was renowned for his violent tantrums. The Namek eventually conceded that, of all of them, she probably knew him best.

There were a few more minutes of small talk and then everyone slowly began drifting away to different points of the compass to return to their own lives. Before leaving, they all thanked Mr. Satan for providing the opportunity for the much-needed get-together but the old blowhard was still mourning the loss of his precious hotel and had lapsed into a depression. Gohan and Videl barely managed to pry his arms off of the lop-sided pedestal that had held his gold statue (now crushed beyond recovery) and lead him to the car.

Goku fetched Goten and told the boy that Abo and Cado were coming to live with them. Goten hadn't been too keen on the idea until his father added that they were going to take over the chore of tending to the radishes. His father's son in all the ways that mattered, the youth was ecstatic at the prospect of more time to play. Chi Chi was doing a slow burn as she watched them cheer and then fixated her disapproving glare on the aliens who ambled up to join them, still giggling like a couple of school kids. It would be at least a week before the Son family would realize that the radishes were like a drug to the two, causing them to be constantly stoned out of their simple, little alien minds.

Krillin, Android 18, Marron, Oolong, Turtle, and Master Roshi all climbed into their battered car in preparation for the long trip returning to Roshi's Island. Not able to hold in his keen wit, Krillin made the mistake of bragging to his aloof wife that he thought Vegeta's brother was a hell of a lot more stable than hers had turned out to be. He spent the next two nights on the couch regretting the innocuous observation.

Piccolo, Tien and Chiaotzu all parted company and returned to the relative obscurity that was their lives. Yamcha had been engaged up until he'd made the grave mistake of admitting to his fiancée how excited he was to see Bulma after these two years. That had lead to an interrogation that made the retired fighter and baseball star now wonder if he would find the locks to his apartment changed when he got back.

Bulma watched all of her oldest, dearest friends leave one by one until it was just her, Trunks, Tarble and Gure left behind. "You'll really like Capsule Corp.," Trunks was telling the pair. "It's huge. There's a pool, tennis court, several training rooms, and we even have a chef on staff to cook for us now. Mom doesn't like to brag but we're the richest family on the planet."

"Trunks, hush," Bulma said, rummaging in her purse and throwing one of the Hoi-Poi capsules she found. Several feet away, a large hoverjet appeared in a cloud of smoke.

"Amazing," Tarble admitted, eying the sudden appearance of the craft.

The heiress was positively glowing with pride. "That's just a small sample of my father's technology. Since I took over the company, we've branched out to the domestic and automotive sectors."

"It appears that my brother was very lucky to have met you."

"Yes, he most certainly was." Vegeta's drafting contributions had helped that expansion considerably but she didn't add that. Her husband wanted that particular talent to be kept as private as possible and she was respectful to obey his wishes on the matter. It often bothered her that all everyone ever saw in public was the arrogant, vain prince façade that Vegeta had spent a lifetime perfecting. They didn't know how different he was at Capsule Corp. when it was just the three of them together. She was ecstatic by the prospect of these two new arrivals seeing that rare side of him.

The small Saiyan fixed her with an odd look. His eyes were a lighter brown than his brother's and lacked the intensity and anger that usually dominated Vegeta's gaze. He didn't have any hint of that exclamation point between his thick brows, either. "I'd like very much to hear of that meeting. I'm sure it's a fascinating story."

"That's an understatement but not tonight. I'm sure we're all exhausted from this day's excitement."

"Not me!" Trunks exclaimed.

"Oh please, you'll be asleep before we land in the compound," Bulma said with a laugh, leading them into the craft. Once everyone was settled, she got them in the air and entered their course home. When she set the jet on auto-pilot, she went back to check on her guests. Trunks, as she had predicted, was already sprawled out on one of the bench seats in the back. He wasn't asleep yet, but he was close. Bulma retrieved a blanket from the storage locker and covered him with it. There was a mumbled protest, " . . . 'm not a baby . . . ", before he ducked his head beneath the covering and began to snore. "Told you so," she whispered, smiling at the sight.

Tarble was observing everything with his quiet, peaceful manner but it was his wife who gave voice to her mate's whirling thoughts. "He's beautiful. The eye color and hair are definitely yours, but he also looks like . . . his father."

"He's a powerful little fighter, too, and smart as a whip. Too smart for his own good, sometimes," Bulma said, sitting in the seat across from them. "Vegeta and I are very proud of him."

"Vegeta with a son. And married." Tarble gave his head a puzzled shake. "It's hard to take in."

Bulma's smile sagged. "You met him, didn't you? I mean, before Frieza died." She knew how out of control and crazed her husband had been while under the tyrant's rule. Hell, she had seen it first hand and barely escaped with her life. Vegeta's penchant for violence and cruelty had been legend in the galaxy.

"He was-" Tarble became lost for words and Gure finished the sentence for him, "-terrible."

"Yes, he _was_," Bulma said, surprising them both with a curt nod. "But since those awful years working for Frieza, he's died and come back to life _twice_. His soul was judged and considered good by a power greater than you can possibly comprehend. He's no longer the man you knew."

Tarble was openly gaping at her. "How is all of that possible?"

"It's a very long story. Too complicated to get into tonight, that's for sure. Once everyone's had a decent night sleep, I'll clear my schedule for tomorrow and try and force Vegeta out of his precious training simulator. Then we can all sit down and have a nice long chat, just like families are supposed to do," Bulma told them pleasantly. "I'm so happy that you came to Earth, you know that? Vegeta's always seemed, oh I don't know, like such a lonely person. When he comes around I'm sure he'll be as pleased to have you here as I am."

Tarble offered her a wane smile and when it seemed apparent that Bulma was waiting for more, he was relieved when an alarm blared from the cockpit and she had to excuse herself to take the controls. Gure glanced over at Trunks, making sure he was still asleep, before she murmured to her husband, "Maybe she's right, Tarble. If he's changed this drastically, perhaps now the two of you can finally make your peace with what happened."

The small man's face screwed up in anguish and he cast her a solemn look. ". . . Would _you_?"

The female alien glanced down at her hands. "That's not for me to say."

"You saw him. He barely spoke to me. He can barely look at me!" He shook his head sadly, "No, Gure, he's still furious and I can't really blame him. He has every right to be angry."

"But it's not your fault," she whispered.

"It's not his fault either," Tarble sighed and looked over at Trunks and then towards the cockpit where Bulma was arguing over the comlink with someone who was in her airspace. They were both beautiful people, with gentle, innocent natures, a credit to this planet called Earth. How could Vegeta, the Dark Prince and scourge of the Cold Empire, have accepted this place as a refuge? There were so many questions Tarble wanted answered that he wouldn't have left this world even if he'd been physically forced to do so. He wanted to believe if Vegeta had changed this much then maybe . . . _just maybe . . . _

"We'll just have to wait and see what happens," he finally said and then turned to look out the port side window, cutting off further conversation on the matter.

Structurally, the yellow domed building that was the Capsule Corp. headquarters really wasn't that remarkable. It wasn't until you stepped inside that you got a grasp of the scale and realized it for the technological marvel it truly was. Everything was state-of-the-art and some of the products hadn't yet reached mass production. There were pressure plates in the floor that automatically lit each area any person entered; sensors in the wall that scanned a person's body temperature and automatically adjusted the heat and humidity; every room had a voice-activated module to act as an in-house intercom or outside landline; little robots buzzed back and forth on a cushion of air, each serving its own unique function: dusting, vacuuming, cleaning windows, etc.

Bulma gave them the grand tour starting with the atrium. Dr. Briefs' dinosaurs and other eclectic creatures had long since been relocated to an island reserve and the area was now a peaceful park-like setting for Capsule Corp. staff to enjoy on their breaks and time-off. Gure seemed particularly pleased with the tranquil nature of the place and took her time smelling the flowers and running her dainty hands along the grass and leaves of every specimen she discovered.

From there, Bulma showed them the gym, filled with the most expensive training gear in existence (and most of _that_ Bulma had to redesign or reinforce so they could hold up to the wear and tear of a certain Saiyan); the indoor pool and Jacuzzi; and the kitchen. That area had undergone the most radical remodeling, an essential decision once Trunks began growing and consuming almost as much food as his father. Gone were the days when Mrs. Briefs would spend the entire day cooking, all without one word of complaint. Bulma's parents were now enjoying their retirement in Sarasota, Florida and that left a serious void in the kitchen that neither Bulma nor Vegeta were prepared to tackle on their own. There was now a preparatory room for a professional chef and two of his personal assistants, complete with a walk-in freezer, two double refrigerators, and three stoves. The dining room was now separate, with a table long enough to seat a dozen quests, and displayed Bulma's mother's collections of bone china, designer plates, and sumptuous knick-knacks behind elegant oak cabinets.

The family room was on the main floor and all of the furniture was up to date and sumptuous. Dominating the far wall was a gigantic HD flat-screen television and plugged into it were all of the top gaming platforms for Trunks and Goten to enjoy at their leisure. The general décor radiated comfort and relaxation, making the atmosphere very inviting to the casual observer. For Bulma, Vegeta and Trunks, it was home, but for her two new guests it was simply a marvel.

Leading them up the curved staircase, Tarble and Gure were taken to the guest quarters and they accepted the first suite that was offered. By now they were becoming a little overwhelmed by their surroundings after more than a year trapped in a space pod hurtling through barren space, and just wanted a chance to relax and unwind. It had been a very stressful day, and Tarble admitted as much.

Bulma more than understood. "Have a nice night. I'll see you again at breakfast tomorrow morning at 8 o'clock in the dining room. If you need anything before then, just ask the computer interface by the door. We have service bots that can get you whatever you want."

"Right now, that would be sleep," the short man said with a laugh.

"Well, if you decide to do anything _more_," she passed him a suggestive wink, "The family quarters are far down the hall. We won't hear anything. I promise!"

Tarble and Gure both looked at her in confusion. "Like what?" the little female asked innocently.

Bulma blushed. "Uh, I just meant, I- Well, have a good night you two!" she made her retreat back down the stairs before either could respond.

Tarble watched her leave and then closed the door, looking around the huge room. There was a king-sized bed that was about three feet off the floor. Tarble pulled a chair up beside it so that his wife could use it to climb up rather than try and scale the bed as if it were a mountain. She was excitedly checking out the adjoining room and turned on the television, recoiling back with a squeak when a commercial suddenly blasted out of the speakers: _"-Come on over to Crazy Jerry's Jell-O Emporium! Our prices are INSAAAAANE!"_

She dropped the remote and slapped the indentations beside her head that were her ears. Tarble came up beside her and shut it off. "I think we've enjoyed quite enough of Earth culture for one night, my love. Don't you think?"

"It's all so different from our world," she marveled. "Harmony and chaos all rolled into one. Perhaps that's the appeal to your brother. Maybe that's why he's stayed here."

Tarble looked unconvinced but Gure didn't know what more she could say to placate her mate. She could only entwine her frail arms around his waist and he hugged her compulsively. Together, the odd pair stood like that amidst the unfamiliar surroundings for a very long time.

* * *

The alarm clock on Bulma's night stand went off at six-thirty the next morning and she treated the intrusion as she did every time it blasted at her; by bringing her fist down on the snooze button and falling immediately back to sleep. She had never been a morning person and only tolerated it now because of corporate demands. In the 'old days' (an expression she used very sparingly), she would have puttered in the lab until dawn, sleep until supper, and then go right back at it, eager to repeat the pattern.

When the clock went off again, she slapped it quiet and raised herself into a sitting position, blinking blearily at her surroundings. She glanced at the right-hand side of the bed and saw it hadn't been disturbed. Vegeta had either spent the night in the gravity simulator, slept in one of the spare rooms, or was down in the Research & Development labs. All three scenarios were so common she immediately forgot all about her errant husband and forced herself to her feet and shuffled to the bathroom, fixated on a life-renewing shower.

By eight o'clock, she was as ready to face the day as she ever would be; at least once she had her morning cup of coffee (no caffeine-free crap for her). Antony, the chef, and his assistants had been preparing breakfast an hour before and the smells of bacon and cinnamon-spiced pancakes greeted her as she came down the staircase. Trunks was already seated at his place at the table and wolfing down an entire box of Fruitloops out of a bowl that could hold two liters of milk. Tarble and Gure appeared to have arrived only a few minutes before Bulma and looked unsure of what to do. "Sit down and help yourself," she told them, reaching for the mug of coffee that was at her setting and drinking it as if it were a life-saving elixir. "We're not much on etiquette here."

"Where's dad?" Trunks asked between spoonfuls.

"I guess he's too busy to join us," she said shortly, dishing some scrambled eggs onto her plate and adding a slice of toast.

The boy frowned at Vegeta's empty place setting and offered, "I'll go find him if you want."

"I'm not going to have you late for school playing Hide-and-Go-Seek with your father." She looked over at her guests and saw that they had seated but still looked uncomfortable. "Is everything okay?"

"It all looks . . . wonderful," Tarble admitted. "I'm not sure where to start."

"Just have a nibble of anything that looks-"

"It'd be a shame if he didn't get any of this great breakfast," Trunk nagged. "I'll be really fast, mom. I promise."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Oh fine! Check the usual spots. Hurry back."

"I will!" he said, and was gone in a flash of super speed.

"Is everything all right?" Gure asked hesitantly, reaching for a croissant. She didn't know what it was, but its quarter-moon shape enticed her.

"Vegeta missing breakfast is more common than you'd think," Bulma said, buttering her toast. "He tends to over-train and forget the time."

"What does he need to train for?" Tarble inquired. He had just discovered the taste of bacon and was now eagerly loading his plate. "I saw him in the state of the Legendary. What more is there than that?"

"There are actually two more levels beyond the Super Saiyan form. Vegeta can make the second and now he's working on reaching the third. I think he's getting close."

Tarble dropped his fork and Gure fumbled with her Danish. They stared at the heiress in shock. "He has that much power?" The small Saiyan gasped. "How is this planet still intact?"

"I told you: He's _changed_," Bulma said, this time with a hard edge to her voice. Forcing herself to calm down, she admitted, "I'm not ignorant. I know what he did to hundreds of worlds. He burned entire civilizations to the ground. That was over twelve years ago and a lot has happened since."

Tarble wanted to believe her so badly that he ached from longing but the doubt was plain on his face. He was about to voice his concerns when Trunks suddenly appeared next to his mother, breathing hard and his hair mussed from running. "I can't find him, mom. I don't think he's here."

"Then he's probably out jogging or-"

"No mom. He's not answering me," Trunks persisted, gesturing at his forehead. "That usually means he's out of range."

_Or he's ignoring you,_ Bulma thought, and knew that both were out of character even for Vegeta. She rose from her seat and glanced at her guests, "Excuse me for a minute." She went into the next room and walked over to the nearest communication interface. "House."

"_Comm enabled,"_ a pleasant sounding computer-voice intoned. _"Inquiry?"_

"Call Vegeta's cell."

There was a pause of exactly one minute before the response was, "_Prince Vegeta's cell phone is unresponsive."_

Bulma wasn't surprised. "Ping the GPS."

"_The cell phone is within the compound. Room 201."_

Second floor, first room. Their bedroom. Bulma knew she would have noticed it if it were lying in plain sight and went upstairs to find it. When her search proved fruitless she said, "House. Dial Vegeta's cell phone again. Keep it ringing."

There was a muted ring tone that led her to the bureau. She slid open the first drawer and found nothing but underwear and socks. The second was empty of Vegeta's clothes with only his cell phone in their place. There was text message on the tiny screen, just three distinct words:

**I wasn't bluffing.**

Trunks had finished his bowl of cereal and now was working his way through an enormous pile of hash browns smothered in ketchup. Between mouthfuls he managed to keep his guests entertained, "-should have seen him. He looked like a big pile of used chewing gum in a pair of M.C. Hammer balloon pants. Me and Goten had to use the same fusion technique against him that we used against those Abo Cado losers. He put up a heckuva fight, though. We died."

"You . . . died?" Gure repeated. By now she had given up any pretense of eating and was staring at the boy with all of her attention, elbows resting on the table and her hands beneath her chin. Tarble was picking slowly away at his meal, paying keen attention.

"Yep! Me, Goten, mom, the whole planet went kablooey. Dad wished it all back," the boy said matter-of-factly, gulping down some orange juice. "He's really smart like that. Goku is great at fighting and all, but my dad has the brains. We'd probably all still be bored out of our minds in Heaven if it hadn't been for him."

Tarble asked, "When did this happen?"

"Two years ago yesterday. That's why we were all together when you found us. It was kind of an anniversary and Hotel opening in one."

"And Vegeta was there . . . celebrating . . . with his friends."

"Uh huh," Trunks said, oblivious to the stunned look passed between husband and wife.

Bulma came in through the door, cutting off the entertaining narrative. "Did you find him?" Trunks asked eagerly.

She flashed him an easy smile. "No worries. I got a hold of Videl and she said that she'd seen your father sparring with Goku. That's why he didn't answer you. Do you remember what happened the last time you interrupted one of their fights?"

Trunks blanched and squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. Last year, he'd been excited about a particular toy in the store and had sent a mental shout to his father. Vegeta had been in heated combat with Goku at the time. Trunks' mental distraction had been just enough for him to miss blocking a vicious kick to the groin. A vicious _Super Saiyan_ kick. He had been laid up for nearly a week.

"You're going to be late for school, young man. If I get another late slip, your father will start escorting you to school." Bulma cocked a blue eyebrow, "You don't want him to do that, do you?"

"No, I sure don't!" Trunks said, jumping off the chair and quickly retrieving his back-pack. He lingered long enough to spare a glance to Tarble and Gure, "I'll see you guys after school. 'Bye," in a blur of movement, he was out the door and racing across the compound.

The instant he was out of sight, Bulma's carefree expression left her face and became remarkably cold. Tarble might have looked young, but his maturity was evident when he said calmly, "You lied to the boy because you didn't want him to worry. What's my brother done?"

"I think a better question is . . . What did you do to _him?_" Bulma said, struggling to maintain her composure. Her blue eyes were fixated on Tarble's gentle brown and unwavering in their intensity. "He's packed up and left. I don't know where yet, but that's not the point. He wouldn't have left his home without a damned good reason. I want to hear what happened between the two of you. Right now."

"It's extremely complicated-"

"You're not leaving this room until you tell me," Bulma said, sitting down in her chair and crossing her legs. She looked like she was prepared to stay for as long as it took.

"They only met the one time," Gure blurted out. "I wasn't there but I heard about it afterwards. All my people know the tale."

"Vegeta went to your planet," Bulma realized. "Why?"

"Can't you guess?" Tarble said slowly, "He came to kill me."

* * *

Next chapter: Tarble recounts his very first encounter with Vegeta.


	2. Tarble's Tale

Oh, persistent woman of Earth . . .

Asking about my first meeting with Vegeta, as if you think it to be an easy tale to tell. I know so little of this world and the habits of its people. I don't know if you'd be able to even understand what I would tell you. Perhaps with more time . . . Ah, but you're not going to give me more time, are you? I can see that in your blue eyes. You have spirit and intelligence all rolled into a helm of exquisite beauty. I can see why my brother bedded you. What I still don't understand is why he took you for a mate, or fathered your child. Vegeta is ill-suited for civilian life. You said he'd accepted this existence for _twelve years_. I can barely comprehend that. You should be dead and this beautiful world reduced to a barren husk. That is what my brother does best, it is what _all_ the Saiyans did best because they-

_Wait._

How much do you know of the Saiyans? I suppose I should start there and try to explain how we were conceived in indifference and treated no better once born. The concept of "family" was an alien thing to our people. Common soldiers donated their sperm and eggs to the gestation chambers and that made it easy to abandon the resultant offspring with barely any thought or emotion attached to the act. Without intimacy, how can there be affection? And when there's no place for affection, the heart becomes detached and starves to death. The Saiyans were doomed long before Frieza ever destroyed our world, you see. They were already dead inside; it just took longer for their bodies to be embraced by the void that had already existed in place of their souls.

Saiyan royalty made reproduction more complicated because the son born in succession had to be as strong, or stronger, than the current ruler. My father, the King, was the pinnacle of power and bearing. He was also the most brutal, callous, opportunistic ruler to ever lead our people. It was his greed that started our race's downward spiral. He wanted more planets to rule and in so expanding the Saiyan Empire it attracted Frieza's attention. An unholy bargain was struck between them and it placed our soldiers into bondage under the guise of an "alliance". Saiyans care only for destruction and carnage and Frieza offered them that and more, so they were content in their place as hired killers. They were the best in the galaxy but in so doing, their unique traits came under closer scrutiny. Frieza did not know of the Saiyans penchant for growing stronger after being wounded. Each cadre sent on a mission often returned stronger than previously rated by scouters and that began to worry the tyrant.

King Vegeta knew he had partnered with a being that far surpassed his own treacherous nature and, realizing that his life might be in jeopardy, went about the task of securing an heir. The first born had been a little girl who was put down quickly after her birth. Where her remains were placed, or her name, are unknown. The second had been a healthy boy, but when scouters detected that his power level was beneath that of the King's he, too, disappeared. Then came a third, a fourth, a fifth . . . All innocent babies and all discarded like refuse because of a ruler's twisted thirst for perfection. It was generally believed that the King was on a fool's errand. He was the most powerful Vegeta to exist in one hundred generations and for him to hope to sire an heir that was even stronger . . . Well, most said it was an impossible feat (not to his face, mind you).

I do not know what forces were in league that led about to my brother's odd birth. The King offered his natural contribution, as was expected, but he decided to forego the use of a gestation chamber and resort to the means that nature intended. It was a controversial choice; the power level and strength of Saiyans had grown so much since the days of natural childbirth that choosing this method placed both female and child in great jeopardy. The Saiyan female chosen to bear the prince had not been a soldier trained in any aspects of warfare; she had been the King's personal courtesan, a woman skilled in other -more exotic- arts and she had stood by the King's side practically since he had come into power. Any other race would have called her "wife", for she _was_ the King's favored, but I can tell you that he shed no tear when my brother tore himself out of her, brutally ending her life. As far as the King was concerned she had served her purpose, and served it well. The babe's presence immediately sent scouters screaming and the King was triumphant where none had thought possible. The child's power level was unprecedented, far above that of the King of Saiyans, and so the boy was permitted to bear the coveted name of "Vegeta" at long last. The only thing of any concern was his small size but it was considered a tolerable side-effect of having endured a natural birth, and if there were certain geneticists who were executed in secrecy because of it . . . Well, you didn't hear that from me.

From the day of his birth, Prince Vegeta was turned over to handlers and trainers all eager to impart the knowledge that would become crucial when he would come to age and inevitably challenge the King for his throne. And his life. It's probably for this reason that the King had little to do with his son from that point on, aside from the odd public formal where both were expected to be seen together. It is a hard thing to embrace your executioner and the shrewd monarch knew that he had sealed his own fate the instant he secured an heir. Still, to Saiyans, the power levels of Elites were important matters and the King often bragged about his son's accomplishments and abilities, unfortunately to the wrong ears. By the time Vegeta was five years old, he had garnered Frieza's interest.

I'll admit I don't know much about Frieza. Even now, fourteen years after his death on Planet Namek, there are few who want to talk about him. I do know that he was the youngest son of King Cold and that he was given his section of the family Empire as a coming-of-age present. In the span of a few decades he more than tripled the range of his territory. I've heard he was a ruthless leader who commanded unwavering loyalty from his forces. To be a soldier serving under Frieza meant one of two things; either your world had been defeated and you had no choice but to become a soldier (or die), or you were personally selected to join the ranks among his elite warriors. Prince Vegeta was chosen for the latter. It was considered a high honor to receive that distinction but the King wasn't happy to see his heir snatched away.

"He's too young," the King protested in an ante-chamber set off from the throne room, away from prying eyes. The only ones present were him, two of his Elite soldiers, Nappa and Shiitake, and Frieza. "Barely more than a cub, really. He needs more time to-"

"What?" Frieza drawled as he inspected his black fingernails. "Kill more Saibamen? Destroy drones? You've already exhausted all training resources for the boy, Vegeta. You have no Saiyans strong enough to beat him. My offer is a generous one: Under my tutelage he will become a warrior of great skill and power. He will become a feared soldier of my empire."

"He's destined to rule an empire of his own!" the King growled.

"You think you even have an empire anymore?" Frieza burst out into cruel laughter. "Foolish monkey! Your territory fell under my banner the instant you pledged allegiance. Your planet is mine, your people are mine," he dropped his voice and said with satisfaction, "Your son is now mine and there's nothing that you can do about it."

The hackles rose on the back of the King's neck and a dark red aura burst around his body, making his red cape billow out behind him as if he were standing in a windstorm. Nappa and Shiitake flanked him but it was all for nothing. Frieza made a casual back-handed motion and all three were sent crashing into the far wall by a flash of ki they had neither sensed nor seen. By the time they'd recovered their wits the tyrant was back to inspecting his fingernails again. "I'll send my lieutenant, Dodoria, to fetch the boy tomorrow," Frieza said casually.

The King was stammering, "I-I won't let this happen! You can't-"

"I can and I will. I really don't understand all this fuss over the runt of a defective litter, Vegeta. Given what resources you put into the boy, perhaps the next one will be of better quality." He cast the King a knowing smirk and in mere seconds the Saiyan royal dropped his furious glare to the floor. "Tomorrow," Frieza said again and walked out of the room, his tail waving lazily behind him. The door slammed shut behind him by unseen hands.

"Sire," Shiitake said at last. "What are you going to do?"

Ignoring him, the King said through clenched teeth, "Nappa, go get the prince. Escort him to the medical center."

"Yes sire," the huge Elite said and obediently left the room to fetch his charge. Shiitake was ordered to make preparations for Frieza's ship at the space port and the King abandoned his royal duties for the rest of the day, intent on private matters.

The next day Frieza's personal guard appeared, a bulbous, horned monstrosity named Dodoria, and took Prince Vegeta away. Nappa was permitted to accompany him and, so far as I know, neither ever set foot on Planet Vegeta again before its destruction. I rather suspect that my brother's training was harsh under Frieza but I also believe that he probably enjoyed the attention. He was his father's son in all the ways that mattered, you see, and causing grief and carnage must have satisfied the ache in his blood and bones, the product of a hundred generations of selective breeding.

_But I'm getting ahead of myself again. _

I was born six months after Prince Vegeta was placed into Frieza's service. There was no mother for me, just the bare, impersonal confines of a gestation chamber. For Saiyan babies all sensory input is stored to memory almost immediately, even if it doesn't make any sense at the time. The data is sorted through in later years, as perceptions increase. I remember spilling out of the chamber into the bitterly cold air and I remember screaming from the sheer shock of it. There were faces peering down at me. They appeared very excited. I'm almost sure that I saw the bearded face of the King smiling at me, but I could be mistaken. There were spoken words but they made no sense to me at the time. What I remember with brilliant clarity is only this: "His name in the Royal registry will be 'Tarble'. We'll make the switch later . . . when it's safe."

I was bathed, fed, and I remember sleeping for a very, _very_ long period of time. When I woke up, Shiitake was there as my personal guardian and it was a position he dutifully maintained for the next ten years. He raised me without a word of protest or complaint, protected me from danger, and became my best friend, teacher, and father all rolled into one. I loved him very much. It's a relationship that I imagine my brother had with his own bodyguard, Nappa.

It was probably a year that passed by until I realized that we weren't on Planet Vegeta but on some other, unnamed world. I knew that Shiitake was reserved, often morose, but I couldn't understand why. It wasn't until I was four that I discovered the reason for his somber disposition as he told me of our home planet's fate.

"The official word was that a comet destroyed it," the muscular soldier rumbled while we were staring up at the stars one evening. "But I know that it was Frieza."

"Why would he do that?" I asked in dismay. I had no memories of my home world but I started crying anyway because homes are meant to be special and because I had looked forward to returning there some day and seeing my people and meeting my father, maybe even my long-lost brother. I couldn't comprehend how it had all been taken away from me by a villain I'd never even met.

"Because that's what he does," Shiitake said sadly. He'd fathered three children over the duration of his fifty year career as a soldier and had been fond of a female who had trained the inductees to the palace guard. All were dead and reduced to ashes now drifting along the eddies and flows of vast solar tides. The Saiyans were a destructive, terrible race but even they deserved to meet their end in noble battle instead of in their beds by a casual blast from space.

"Do you think my brother is still alive?" I asked hopefully. All I knew of Vegeta was from the stories told to me by my guardian and they had built up my expectations if we were ever fortunate enough to meet face-to-face. The look Shiitake passed me shattered that fantasy.

"If he was lucky, he died soon after the loss of our world," the huge Elite said. "And if he wasn't . . ." he let the words hang in the air. In the days and months that followed whenever I brought up the topic again he would quickly change it to something else.

In time, we were met by the inhabitants of the world we'd made our refuge and, reluctantly, our home. Gure's people had kept themselves cloaked from us, for they were powerful psionics, and had watched us for almost five years in secrecy as they tried to determine our intentions. They were a timid but curious people and completely ignorant of Saiyans or other races. Without that prejudice to influence them we were quickly accepted as friends. We moved to the outskirts of one of their larger townships and, although Shiitake rarely associated with them, I was encouraged to socialize and make friends, and that was precisely what I did.

Shiitake dutifully monitored the space bands with the technological gear he'd brought to this world, and by the time I was six a name began to surface amidst the random chatter. _My brother was alive!_ I was euphoric with the idea of a possible reunion until the day I listened to a transmission being broadcast from a world that was under attack. What transpired there haunted my dreams for weeks afterward.

"_-the protection of the western shield has been lost!"_ a voice shouted from the speaker, made tinny and faint from the distance between systems, but still perfectly understandable. _"I've lost contact with the battalion stationed there!"_

Another voice cut in with, _"We'll send reinforcements! How many in the advancing army? Do you know?"_

"_It's one person. It-I think it's a-a child!" _

That was met by a few seconds of stunned silence. _"Say again, trooper? We didn't copy that."_

"_It's a little kid! He's surrounded by a blue shield and he's taking out the tanks like they're nothing!"_ There was a warble of static as an explosion resounded dangerously near where the trooper was stationed. His voice faded back to clarity, _"-now moving into the city and killing everyone! What do I do, base?"_

There was a confused babble of conflicted voices that followed, including shouts of alarm and fear. There was only one clear word that made it through the chaos and it made my blood run cold to hear it being screamed from someone in the throes of agony: _"-Vegeta!"_ Right after that the transmission was lost.

"Oh Shiitake," I moaned, feeling sick to my stomach. "What does that mean?"

"It means your brother is lost to us, Tarble," the other Saiyan said gravely.

By then Vegeta was only eleven years old and already he was committed to razing whole cities and burning innocents alive. I'm not sure if that was the product of Frieza's intensive training or his own innate desires. Probably a combination of both. He had been liberated from the constraints that would have come with being a ruler of our home world and was probably enjoying himself now that he could revel in his true nature.

"He's so powerful," I mused, forming a tiny bubble of ki before it popped in my face, showering me with sparks. It was a common result anytime I utilized my power, although I learned greater focus in later years. "I thought you said my power level was higher than his?"

"It was. That's why we were sent here. The official reason for sending you off Planet Vegeta was for having an _inferior_ power level, but that was a ruse so that Frieza wouldn't be suspicious."

I remembered Shiitake's earlier stories of what had happened to royal babies that were inferior. "The lower classes sent their weak children to other planets all the time. Why did royalty kill theirs off?"

"There can be only one Prince Vegeta," Shiitake answered evasively, which begged the question again why I was spared.

"When you emerged from the gestation chamber, your power level was massive. Far stronger than that of the Prince, who had already achieved the recognition. You were sent away until the King could . . . remedy the situation."

"Remedy it how?"

My body guard thought for a long moment and then rumbled, "I don't know."

"If I had such power, why am I so weak now?"

"Sometimes the trauma associated with a birth can elevate a power reading. I think the King was hasty and should have run some more tests, but he didn't want Frieza to know about you."

"He loved me," I said, beaming up at the immense man with all the innocence of the six year-old child I was.

"Uhm, sure, if that's how you want to put it," the Saiyan Elite said, shifting his massive bulk uncomfortably.

I looked towards the sky as it neared towards dusk, the setting sun transforming the clouds into a canvas of gold and orange. "Will I ever see my brother, Shiitake?" I asked quietly.

He shook his head. "No, Tarble. It's best to just forget about him."

In the following years, Vegeta's name became synonymous with senseless slaughter and mindless violence as he expanded Frieza's empire and filled the ruler's coffers with the profit of purged worlds. Heeding Shiitake's words, I filled that familial void playing with the youngsters of Gure's world. They looked strange with their tiny bodies and over-sized heads but they radiated such pleasure and peace that it was impossible to ignore them for very long. They played such marvelous games and were skilled in music and art and it wasn't long before I began to spend more and more time in the township living among various families and accepted as if I were their own child, than I was in the makeshift shelter I shared with Shiitake. If my guardian was disappointed by my conduct I have no idea, for he never spoke of it, but I knew that he was desperately unhappy and often spent the dark nights staring at the unfamiliar constellations as he listened to faraway battles. I wonder, now, if he was thinking of his children, or lost love, and wished he had died with them but –as I've said- at that time I was only a child and so I blindly sought comfort from a people not my own. In the years that followed, I thought less and less of my Saiyan heritage and adopted farming and peace as my way of life. Shiitake still hunted for me, for I could not completely adopt the vegan diet that Gure's people thrived on, but aside from the odd visit from my old friend I was content to live with them. I was safe and I was happy.

That all changed when I was ten.

The first hint that something was wrong happened the afternoon I was sitting in the town square with several of my friends. We were listening to an elder of the township read from a book of his poems when he suddenly gripped his head and released a shrill cry of pain. That was quickly taken up by old and young alike until I was the only one unharmed by this invisible attack. My friends and all of the villagers were keening in pain while I looked around wildly for the sign of their distress. Then an earthquake shook the ground, strong enough to topple a few of the taller buildings and I tried to help those trapped in the rubble. I wasn't very strong, and still had little in the way of power, and it wasn't long before my hands were reduced to bloody ruins. Still, I wouldn't give up. My vision was blurred with tears of pain and frustration when I hauled the first broken little body from the debris. There were five victims in all but only one of them was still breathing by the time I'd finished.

"Th-the anger," my friend was gasping, his arms wrapped around his mid-section and his large head turning an ugly purple from a gash along the temple. "Such _rage_ . . . Run Tarble! He-he's coming f-for you-"

The ground was still shaking and I watched a fissure open up along the street and swallow several booths of a nearby market, goods and all. "Who's coming?" I couldn't get a grasp that this wasn't a natural disaster. "Who is-"

The ground suddenly stopped moving and what followed in its place was only deathly silence. Then, directly behind me, growled a voice, "There you are."

I started turning when a white boot connected with my cheek and sent me flying until I landed a considerable distance away. The impact stunned me, and I lay blinking down at the dirt wondering how things had gotten so bad, so quickly. I couldn't wrap my thoughts around it and spared an urgent glance for help and saw that the town had vanished. Gure's people had cloaked it, using the united power of their minds to flee the notice of this unknown threat just as they had done to Shiitake and I. My friends, all my adoptive families, had left me to fend for myself.

I looked up at my attacker and saw that he, too, was casting the area a puzzled glance, trying to figure out where everything had gone. It gave me some much needed time to examine him.

I was shocked to discover that he was a Saiyan, unmistakable with that brown tail flailing angrily back and forth behind him. He was clad in a blue body suit with distinctive white armor protecting his shoulders, chest, hips and groin. He was wearing matching white boots and gloves but what struck me most was the red cape that was taken up by the wind and billowed out behind him. He glanced at me, his left eye hidden by a scouter, and I swear I have never seen such hatred etched into another's features before or since. He wasn't an adult, that much was plain, and not much taller than I was but I could feel the sheer power he was radiating as if he were a compact star. "Tarble," he growled, baring his teeth.

There was only one survivor I knew for sure that had survived Planet Vegeta's destruction. ". . . Brother?"

"Don't call me that! You have no right!" he screamed and released a wave of energy that tossed me backwards across the ground as if I weighed no more than a pebble. My back slammed up against the hard base of a tree and I watched helplessly as Vegeta stalked towards me, intent on finishing me off. "Broth- Vegeta," I pleaded, outstretching one hand in entreaty. "I've done nothing to you! Please, can't we just talk?"

"Words are for diplomats and weaklings," he spat, holding up one hand. Ripples of yellow ki began to coalesce into a bright ball that was guaranteed to burn and destroy. "Power is the only thing that matters!"

He threw the blast and I shielded my face to the inevitable. The impact guaranteed to end my life never came and when I dared to open my eyes I saw a figure standing in front of me. I barely recognized him for he had forsaken the black Saiyan armor soon after we had made ourselves at home here but I was relieved to see my old guardian had joined the fray in the proverbial nick of time. "Shiitake! Be careful!" I cautioned.

"Shiitake," Vegeta mused. "I remember you. One of my father's guards."

My bodyguard was holding his chest where the blast had rebounded and cracked the armor, and also hurt him judging by the expression of pain on his face. "Prince Vegeta," he muttered, and actually made a curious half-bow of reverence. "You look just like your father."

My brother's lip curled up in a sneer. "Hnh. You probably know why that is, right?" he shot back in a sarcastic tone.

"I don't know anything."

"And what about him?" Vegeta pointed a finger at me. "What do you know about him?"

"Nothing."

"You and Nappa . . ." he was shaking his head. "Still loyal to my wretched father right to the end of your miserable lives!" He moved in unbelievably quick and dispatched my huge guardian with blows that were a blur. In mere seconds, Shiitake was on his knees, blood coursing from a crushed nose. He spit several teeth into his palm and considered the smaller opponent for a moment. For some strange reason, there was a smile twisting his bloody lips.

"Nicely done, my Prince. Your training under Frieza has obviously left its mark on you."

Vegeta's only response was an animalistic snarl of hatred.

The pair flew into each other again and took to the sky in a battle that was lost to the eyes and had to be tracked by the mind. I lacked the focus but I could hear the muffled grunts of pain and knew their origin with acute dread. In the span of a few frenzied heartbeats, Shiitake was thrown to the ground, colliding with the dirt hard enough to leave an imprint in the shape of his body. Vegeta landed lightly beside him. There was a bruise on his forehead but, otherwise, he appeared unharmed. "Pitiful old fool," he said and raised his left hand again.

"Shiitake-!" There was another terrible flash and by the time I'd managed to blink the spots from my eyes and could see properly again, my lifelong friend and surrogate father was dead. I ran over to the charred body, screaming. "No! Oh stars-_NO!_"

Vegeta grabbed me by the back of the neck and threw me to the ground, planting a boot on my chest to prevent me from moving. "You're crying like a baby," he observed with disgust. "What a joke you turned out to be. Not that I'm laughing . . . yet."

"You killed him." I couldn't believe what I'd seen. "You killed another Saiyan! How could you do that?"

"I did him a favor," Vegeta said. "You obviously know nothing about your heritage, brat. Hiding out here, living as a native with these freaks-" his voice suddenly faltered and he was staring off to the side with an odd expression on his face. I looked over and saw one of my friends, the one I had hauled from the destroyed building, standing nearby. He was staring up at Vegeta. There was curiosity on his round, bloodied face, but also a great deal of puzzlement.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Fuck off," Vegeta snarled, pointing a glowing finger at this new target. "I won't tell you twice."

"Kiro, run!" I shouted, but my friend just continued to ogle at my brother, his head cocked to one side.

Vegeta's sneer was back. "Warned you," he said shortly and fired.

The blast ricocheted off of an invisible shield and hit my brother in the left shoulder, knocking him off of me. He quickly recovered, executing a back flip and landing in a wary crouch. "Nice trick," he smirked. "Try this one on for size." He cupped his hands to his side and suddenly thrust them out, releasing a blast of blue ki at his tiny target. Just as he made the action, the rest of the villagers suddenly appeared around the child and all focused their gaze on their enemy. The destructive blast met an unseen barrier and bounced off, deflecting harmlessly into the sky.

"Sonovabitch," Vegeta marveled. He immediately took to the air and it was as if some terrible pocket hurricane wrapped his cape around his body and slammed him face first into the ground. Tearing the red fabric to shreds, he leapt to the air again, unleashing a barrage of ki bolts as a cover to get some distance. The blasts never came close to hitting their target. They seemed to turn in midair and all of a sudden I watched my brother having to execute some rapid aerial maneuvers to avoid getting hit by his own projectiles. Another fierce blast of invisible force battered him and sent him crashing into the tree I had been leaning against barely a minute before, breaking it in half. That finally seemed to stun him a little. He was slower getting to his feet and when he spit at the ground, I could see it was bloody. He wiped his mouth slowly as he considered the little aliens. The anger had left his face, becoming guarded and wary, especially when several of the elders broke rank and approached him.

"No! Get away! It's not safe!" I was moving forward to stop them when Kiro grabbed my arm.

"Don't interrupt them, Tarble," he whispered, pulling me away. "Let them talk."

"Buh-but their mouths aren't moving!" I saw that my brother had crossed his arms and appeared to be considering the five elders, frowning thoughtfully.

Kiro smiled. "There are other ways to communicate. Your brother is skilled enough to link with the elders. They are trying to help him."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Help . . . _him?_"

"He's damaged, Tarble," was all Kiro would say of it.

I stared at my brother trying to spot a serious injury but, aside from looking a little scuffed, I couldn't spot any wounds or the damage my friend was speaking of. Vegeta and the elders continued to stare at one another, neither side moving. At long last Vegeta looked away first, shaking his head furiously, and one of the elders stepped forward and reached up to touch his arm. The contact lasted for maybe five seconds before my brother shrugged off the contact with a growl and stalked off a short distance away. He stood with his back to us, head bowed and hands on his hips, for a very long time.

"What's happening?" I whispered to Kiro.

"Just wait and see."

Gradually, Vegeta became animated again. He turned his head to consider the five aliens for a few seconds and then spun on his heel and walked briskly in my direction.

I was close to breaking out into a mad sprint to get away but curiosity held me in place. Vegeta grabbed me under the jaw and stared into my face. I tried to break that grip but I might as well have been trying to pull away from solid rock. "Vegeta-" I protested.

"Shut up," he mumbled absently. His eyes had changed, I realized. That hideous lunacy had faded to the background and they were suddenly full of emotion. With a grunt he pushed me backwards, watched me pinwheel for balance and fall on my behind. When I dared to look up I was stunned to see a trace of amusement on his face. Or maybe it was simply wishful thinking.

"Brother." He gave his head a puzzled shake and abruptly turned around and took to the air, speeding a course out of the area.

I cast a baffled look to my friend. "Is . . . is it over?" As if to answer my question, the township came out of its protective cloak and the villagers began the task of cleaning up the damaged storefronts and tending to the wounded. Several rushed over to my side and began bandaging my wounded hands.

I was still looking over at Kiro for some sort of explanation. "The elders did what they could," the little alien said. "Your brother was not so far gone that he didn't understand reason. You're safe now, Tarble."

"I don't understand- Why did he come here?"

Kiro simply passed me a patient look, waiting for me to come to my own conclusion.

Realization dawned. ". . . To kill me? What for? I'm no threat to him!" When my friend stayed silent, I yelled, "_Answer me!_ What did I ever do to deserve this?"

"It's extremely complicated, Tarble," voiced an elder who was walking over, having heard my plaintive questions. "We set matters straight as best we could."

"I don't understand," I said meekly.

"I will explain when you are older," came the response. It was one I'd often heard from Shiitake when I questioned matters that were far over my head. This appeared to be one of them.

There was a roar of sound and I started to tense up in fear again, and watched a space pod blast over the village on a course set for outer space. Vegeta was really leaving. A few heads turned to mark its course but for the most part everyone just seemed to ignore it.

"Will he be back?" I dared to ask the elder.

The elder met my eyes and then dropped them and left to help the rest of his people without answering my question. I watched him carefully sort through the rubble looking for other survivors and I couldn't believe the passive nature that had overtaken everyone, despite the destruction and death that had been wrought upon them. That was fine, I was suddenly angry enough for all of them; for the cruel execution of my protector, Shiitake; for the senseless slaughter of innocents. For the first time I could almost get a grasp around that word: Hatred.

A hand closed around my wrist hard enough to get my attention. "Don't," Kiro said, his round face was distressed but all I saw was the blood on his temple and that just made me angrier.

"'Don't' what?"

"I sense your fury. Let go of it. None of this is your brother's fault."

"Do you hear what you're saying? _Look at that!"_ I screamed, flailing my arms at the ruined town because by then words had left me. I saw the four little bodies I'd pulled out of the rubble being taken away by their kinfolk and my vision warped with stinging tears. I forced myself over to where Shiitake laid. What was left of him. I dropped to my knees and put my face in my hands and sobbed, "I'll never forgive him for this. _Never!_"

Years passed but not my resentment of what Vegeta had done. As much as I try to deny my heritage, I _am_ Saiyan and holding grudges is part of our nature. My attitude changed as a result, making me sullen and withdrawn. That continued up to the day I was returning to the village after a fruitless day of hunting. I wasn't very good at it, and derived no joy in killing helpless creatures for their meat. I tried to adapt to the vegetarian diet as best I could but I suffered from the lack of protein, my strength often waning and my powers, what pitifully few I had, exhausting quickly. I could fly, Shiitake had taught me the lessons, but I mostly hopped great distances until I tired and had to walk. I also noticed that I didn't appear to be growing anymore. I often wondered what was wrong with me. All of these things weighed heavily on my mind as I endured my teenaged years, a time that was difficult for any Saiyan at the best of times, let alone one who was stranded on an alien world. I missed Shiitake desperately.

Meeting me at the town limits was Bora, one of the elders who had faced off against Vegeta five years before. "It is time, Tarble," he said directly.

I cast a worried glance around me, wondering if I had missed some sort of engagement. "Time for what?" I asked in confusion.

"Time for you to hear the truth," came the response.

I simply gaped at him, having long forgotten the promise he had made to me shortly after Vegeta's aborted attack. To Gure's people this might as well as happened yesterday. Their powers of recollection and great age made that possible.

"I'm now prepared to tell you why your brother came to us. If you still want to hear the motive?" There was an expression on his face that seemed to suggest he was more than willing to drop the subject if I wanted it that way.

I thought of Shiitake, of the way he had been reduced to a charred corpse with barely a thought. I buried him near the shelter I'd grown up in and only returned to pay my respects when I was feeling particularly troubled. The equipment and Saiyan armor lay abandoned. I didn't need the reminders. I didn't want them. The mere thought of my best friend made my anger swell up inside of me as if the five years hadn't helped ease my grief at all. "You can explain it. I doubt that it'll make any difference how I feel, though."

Bora spoke slowly in that melodious way that he had, his words conveying circumstances I could barely comprehend. It didn't take me long to realize just how lucky I had been to be squirreled away to this far-off planet and its kind, generous people. How fortunate I had actually been to have been spared Frieza's interest. I was told of my true connection to my savage brother and I was stunned and shamed to tears.

Bora took my hand and patted it gently as I sobbed. "Do not dwell on it, child."

"How can I not?" I wailed plaintively. "Why didn't Shiitake tell me about this? He told me everything else, why not this?"

"Your guardian told you what he thought you were old enough to understand. The specifics do not matter-"

"They don't _matter-?_" I gaped at him.

"You are your own person. An individual. Unique. That's all that you need to remember."

"By the stars, no wonder he was so angry-" I took my face in my hands and struggled to deal with this new information, this burden of knowledge. Kiro had been right all along. It hadn't been Vegeta's fault . . . or mine. We were both simply victims; pawns in a game older than the both of us. King Vegeta's last laugh. I finally understood my brother's fury at long last.

Armed with this startling insight, I began to obsess over Vegeta's untimely visit. I didn't know the circumstances of his relationship with Frieza but doubted that his jaunt to this world would have ingratiated him with the ruler. For all I knew, he had been killed as a result.

Frantic with worry, I familiarized myself with Shiitake's monitoring equipment and scoured the space bands, fearing the worst about my brother's fate. I began picking up his name almost immediately but none of it was good news. Vegeta had since been promoted to purging planets, not just eradicating cities, and the chatter among soldiers signified a deep, irrational loathing of him. He was carrying the burden of an empire's worth of hatred towards the now-dead Saiyans and attempts on his life were a matter of course. It was really amazing that he was still alive.

I spent many nights at Shiitake's simple home, staying there more and more each day, listening to alien broadcasts while I watched the stars. Over time, I was joined by another. Gure came from a faraway village, often bringing wares for trade. She had her people's innocent nature but lacked that innate trepidation when encountering anything new. Her first instinct wasn't to cloak herself and hide but investigate anything that caught her fancy. She was fascinated with me right from the start and me in her. It wasn't long before we fell in love and became inseparable.

There are other means of intimacy than the physical, our bodies were too vastly different for that, but we could unite our minds in a bond that went deeper than blood or bone and became one of the innermost soul. When we joined minds, our love for each other was radiated tenfold, encompassing our entire bodies in an explosion of bliss that eclipsed anything I'd ever felt before. It was like dying and being born all at the same time. It was a second of immortality. A caress of forever. It was . . . indescribable. If not for her, I might have spiraled into the decent of isolation and become feral. The more I listened to the broadcasts of violence, the more I found it difficult to separate my Saiyan nature from the peaceful upbringing I'd enjoyed all my life. Gure helped to keep me grounded, she let me become the embodiment of the best of both races but, oh, how it bothered me to hear my brother's voice over the space-bands boasting about his latest conquest:

"_What's your status, Vegeta? Over."_

"_What the hell do you think? The mission's done. We finished it two days ago and were waiting around for you assholes to clue in."_

"_Watch your tone with me, monkey. I don't need the attitude, just the specifics."_

"_Oh right, kissing up to Zarbon again, eh, Cui? Fine. All two million inhabitants are dead. Hell, we even collected most of them in piles and set them on fire just to tidy things up around here for you. How about that?"_

"_Unnecessary."_

"_Bite me."_

"_Stand-by for retrieval, runt. Base out."_

Sadly, it was a typical transmission.

Several years later, I heard that Vegeta had gone AWOL with Nappa and another Saiyan survivor named Radditz. They went missing and I figured my brother to be forever lost, perhaps prey to an assassination attempt at long last. I settled back into my life with Gure and her people. We got married and lived a peaceful rural life. Occasionally, I would turn on the monitoring equipment just to hear voices of the life that could have been mine, if the fates hadn't interjected. Over the two years that Vegeta was missing, his name came up only sporadically. I think the soldiers were relieved he was gone.

Then Frieza planet #79 transmitted that Vegeta had returned to the base alone and barely alive. He had been in a fierce battle and was placed into immediate intensive care. The prognosis hadn't sounded favorable. I began to suspect the worst again when there was a later transmission to the Ginyu force, on Frieza's behalf, instructing the Special Forces team to change their mission and go to Planet Namek and deal with Vegeta, who was becoming quite a thorn in the tyrant's side. I was ecstatic by the possibility that my brother had finally come to his senses and was now fighting for his freedom.

My happiness was short-lived. Two days later, Planet Namek was destroyed along with Frieza. There were no survivors. My brother was dead. I could only hope that it was Vegeta who had managed to land the killing blow.

Civil war was inevitable as soldiers fought for the remnants of Frieza's empire. It seemed that almost every month there was a different alien proclaiming his (and occasionally, her) rule until another deadly skirmish broke out and someone else assumed fleeting control. It took years before the chaos settled down and a pair of newcomers named Abo and Cado began gathering up territories at a frightening rate. They were extremely powerful, able to keep contenders at bay with their might, and began to form a new empire of their own making. They weren't motivated to purge and sell planets; they just strong-armed the worlds under their banner for vast riches.

Eventually, the peaceful world that Gure's people had kept hidden from alien interference for untold millennia was eventually breeched. Abo and Cado were immune to the cloak that protected us and couldn't fathom why their forces couldn't perceive what was so plain to the two of them. Attracted by the prospect of amassing a powerful psionic army, the pair invaded the planet and caused great damage but, in the end, all they found were me and Gure. Her people had fled to bunkers deep underground. Eventually more soldiers came to search but of course, they found nothing and no one.

My status as a Saiyan caused a great deal of resentment. I was drafted and my clothes of a civilian traded in for ones more suited for battle. Rarely a day went by that I wasn't beaten for some infraction or other, no matter how mild. Gure was a curiosity and the only reason nobody killed her –I suspect- was because they greatly underestimated her potential and kept her around the camp for amusement, like a mascot. We were forced to aid the continued search for her people but deliberately created false leads.

Then came the whispers in the minds of the soldiers coming to our world, thoughts plucked out by an unseen people and transmitted to me: rumors that Vegeta was alive and living in a faraway system. I didn't question the accuracy, I was desperate. Gure and I each stole a space pod and raced to the only being who I knew was more of a threat than the ones that now plagued our peaceful system. I needed a warrior. A killer. And I knew that my brother was the only one who fit that profile. We came to Earth and, as we had hoped, Abo and Cado followed.

The rest is-

* * *

"_Well?"_ Bulma said impatiently, crossing her arms and slumping against the backrest of her chair. "I'm waiting!"

I blinked at her, stunned from my thoughts and looked around in surprise. We were still in the dining room sitting around plates laden with breakfast food that had since grown cold. Gure was staring at me sadly, she had probably been following the trail of my thoughts and, Bless her, hadn't interrupted me. "I-I'm sorry," I said unsteadily, shaken from the detail of the recollection. "I was just wondering where to start."

"From the beginning would be best," the Earthling said coldly and I began to get an inkling what my brother saw in her. Temper and impatience ran strongly in this female specimen, that was for sure. Enough to rival any Saiyan woman that had ever lived.

I looked at Gure and opened my mind to her, questioning what I should do or say. Gure was neutral by her very nature but, in this instance, her response amazed me. I decided that she was right but I wasn't sure how to tell this odd-color haired woman without inciting a tantrum. I decided the direct method was probably best. "I'm sorry, Bulma, but this is between my brother and I."

The woman, quite literally, exploded.

* * *

Next chapter: Vegeta's side of the story.


	3. V is for Vengeance

Blasted kid is at it again.

I haven't even been away from the house for a full day yet and Trunks is already driving me batshit with his constant sendings. I received one this morning, which I deliberately ignored, but once the brat got out of school he's been hammering away at my defenses for hours. I wouldn't even have put it against my woman to suggest he do that. The instant I respond, Trunks will home in on my location and he'll immediately tell Bulma and then . . . The Nagging Will Begin.

I never told her about Tarble and I know that's what's bothering her the most, the fact that I'm still keeping secrets from her. I don't remember anything about that in the marriage vows we took. I never said: "Sure, I'll honor and cherish your sweet ass until death do us part, and while I'm doing that I'll make sure that I tell you every single dark thing I've ever done in my past. Hell, I'll even throw in all of my family's perverse little secrets just for kicks, how about that?"

Yeah, I don't think so. Even if I'd admitted Tarble's existence, it just would have started an interrogation I wasn't prepared to be drawn into. In fact, I was cruising along quite nicely without entertaining the mere thought of him, thank you very much. Now the little shit is in my house, eating my food, entertaining my kid, and no doubt talking to my woman. That's what I get for running away like a little bitch.

Still, I refuse to go back. It's not about pride, it's not even about embarrassment, it's about fear _(Yeah, that's what I said. Don't look so shocked, moron)._ I'm scared about what I might say if I got lured into a debate with him, scared about what I might do. There's still a part of my soul that the Potara Fusion with Kakarrot wasn't able to cleanse; it's as black as rancid oil and just as combustible. I can feel it writhing inside of me, wanting to get out whenever I get angry. And thinking about Tarble makes me think about Frieza and, in turn, about my father and that makes me _really_ angry. Let's face facts here: I'm a killer. I'm good at it and I enjoyed doing it. Thirty years of evil does not cancel out twelve years of apathy, despite what my woman and her loser friends might think. It's who and what I am. If I face off against my fraud of a brother I'm scared I'll revert back to type and I don't want my boy or Bulma to witness it happen. That whole Majin business was bad enough.

So I'll stay here for now. 'Here' being an abandoned island in the middle of some unnamed archipelago in the Pacific Ocean. I'm rich enough to live high off the hog in some five-star hotel but I chose this miserable place instead. Why? Because, judging by the landmarks, it's the same place where I got cocky with the Super Vegeta _(God, did I really say that?)_ transformation and let Cell absorb Android 18 so he'd be a challenge. In retrospect . . . not one of my finer moments. It's a reminder of what happens when I start believing in my own Saiyan Elite superiority bullshit. It'll serve to keep me grounded instead of having me fly off the handle like usual.

I need space to think and time to deal with this interruption. If that means a few days of hunting and squatting in the bushes, so what? It's not like I've never had to do any of _that_ before. Hell, it used to be what amounted to my life before coming to Earth. It's unsettling how easy it is for me to fall back into that old routine: To live for the moment with absolutely no hope for the future and only disgust for the past. That was the state I was in when I decided to hunt Tarble down; little more than a wild thing, really, living on instinct and reveling in the pain of others. It was easy to hate everything in those days because I hated myself even more. That year I turned fifteen was the worst year of my life, it-

Trunks is back. It's like fingernails raking against a chalkboard. _Damn!_ He's persistent. Strong, too. I never trained him to focus his telepathic talent into anything more than having it exist solely as a defensive measure, and I'm damned glad for that. As strong as he is, heightened control might enable him to someday breech my mental shields and I can't allow that. Ever. My only hope is that this is wearing him out and he'll go to bed soon. I don't like ignoring him; I can sense the concern and worry in his assault _(and a touch of anger. That's my boy)_ but I'm not ready to respond. Not yet. Not until I've had time to sort this all out. Sorry kid.

It goes on for a good ten minutes before I sense a mental shrug and, finally, it's over. I think he's gone to bed. That gives me the night to figure out my thoughts in peace. Plenty of time, because I don't plan on sleeping for quite a while. I dozed off this afternoon and woke up screaming barely an hour later. Small wonder. Thinking about Tarble brings back the fact it was Frieza who first told me about his existence. It was also the day that Frieza finally broke me-

At the mere thought of that terrible day, I felt the strength go out of my legs and I had to sit down, letting my feet dangle over the cliff I'd chosen as my look-out. It was almost full on dark but my eyes could still pick out the churning waves throwing suds and kelp against the slick rocks far below me. It was aimless power and mindless violence all rolled into one; with no thought or purpose.

_Once upon a time,_ I thought gravely, _that used to be me . . ._

Radditz, Nappa, and I were in-between missions on Frieza Planet number 32 when I turned fifteen. It was an old world, purged long before I'd ever been born and stripped entirely of resources before it became one of many military bases scattered around the Cold Empire. Its original name had been lost as soon as its inhabitants were exterminated, and became a sequential number _(like everything else he owned, Frieza liked to strip his possessions clean of any trace of individuality and that place was no exception)._ The base consisted of sterile, white buildings that provided the basics; there was a mess hall, training area, infirmary, and barracks. There were never many personnel around and I reveled in the freedom that came with our short shore-leaves there; a drastic contrast to the cramped, Spartan confines of warships and space pods.

Outside of the base limits there was a shanty town that catered to all things forbidden when we were on duty: Booze, drugs, whores, you name it. Radditz and Nappa were there, no doubt pushing the limits until they would be inevitably barred from the place and security would drag their sorry asses back to barracks for me to deal with. It was always the same. Sometimes I joined them, most times I didn't. On the rare days I had off, I just wanted to try and catch up on some sleep.

A few hours into a rare, dreamless slumber, my scouter beeped and Frieza's voice grated into my ear: _"Vegeta! Report to my office at once_." I figure that has to be just about the worst sound a person could ever wake-up to.

I sat up in bed and looked around wildly. All of the other cots were undisturbed. "Milord?" I asked, thinking _(hoping)_ that maybe I'd dreamt the whole thing.

"_Are you deaf as well as stupid, monkey? I'm waiting!"_

Ah shit. This wasn't any dream. I rushed out of the barracks and looked over at the space port and felt my heart sink when I saw Frieza's warship moored to one of the docking spires. I had checked the schedule carefully and knew that the bastard was supposed to be off in another quadrant. He'd apparently had other ideas.

I didn't waste any time hurrying over to the administrative section of the base even though I knew what was probably in store for me. All I could think about was what the hell I had done wrong _this time_. By then it had been beaten into me that I never did _anything_ right; that I was stupid or inferior or just plain worthless and it was getting to the point where I was starting to secretly believe it.

Zarbon and Dodoria were positioned on opposite sides of the closed door and were wearing their usual, smug smiles when I announced, "I'm here to see Lord Frieza. Open the door."

"What's the magic word, shrimp?" Dodoria taunted.

"Now!" I growled.

The two lieutenants looked at one another and bantered back and forth while I did a slow burn.

"Y'know? I don't think that's the right word."

"What do you expect, Dodoria?"

"Well, manners. I kinda expect manners."

"That's a tall order given the breed of the boy, don't you think?"

"Huh. Maybe it should be included in our next training session."

"Why, that's an excellent idea-"

"Would you open the damn door already?" I shouted.

"Temper, temper, little one," Zarbon teased, reaching over and hitting the key pad. The metal door slid into the wall to allow me entrance. I was barely over the threshold when Dodoria flicked a small ball of ki from his pudgy fingers and hit me squarely between the shoulder blades. My graceful entrance to Frieza's office was turned into an awkward stumble. When I recovered and looked over my shoulder to shoot him a glare, the door had closed. Asshole.

"Six minutes," announced a cold voice and I saw that Frieza was standing in front of the window, looking out at the featureless landscape that now made up Planet No. 32. "When I call for you I expect you to hurry, Vegeta."

"I _was_ here but Zarbon and Dodoria-"

Frieza turned his head to look at me. "Zarbon and Dodoria _what?_"

I'd been through this song and dance so many times before that you'd think I would have learned the lesson by now. I guess I _was_ stupid, just like they said. Red-faced and flustered, I looked down at my feet. "Nothing, Lord Frieza. They did nothing. I apologize for my tardiness."

"I'll have to punish you for that," the tyrant said.

Nodding wearily, I reached up and undid the clasps to my cape with heavy fingers. As I meticulously folded it I caught Frieza's eye and saw that he was scowling at me in disapproval. _Now what?_ I wondered. "Is . . . something wrong, milord?"

"I didn't call you here for _that!_" he admonished and I felt my blush burn all the way down to my navel.

"I-I'm sorry. I thought-"

"You don't think, monkey. Leave the thinking to the higher creatures."

"Yes, Lord Frieza. My apologies."

"We're long overdue for a talk," the tyrant said, sitting down at his desk and motioning to the chair beside him, which I settled into after a brief mental debate. I was used to the insults, I was used to the 'punishment' sessions, but this was something new and it took all of my control not to show my unease in front of him. "Don't you think so?"

I barely caught myself in time. "I leave the thinking to you, milord."

Frieza smiled in pleasure. "Well said. This is a special day for you and I wanted to be here to share it. You turned fifteen years old today."

I couldn't help but shrug. It was just a number. The only thing that impressed me was that that Frieza had bothered to chart the Saiyan calendar and make the transition to the time stamp that marked his Empire. Why he would do something like that I didn't know, but I was on my guard.

"You don't understand the significance, do you?"

"No, milord."

"Hmm, so sad. If only that nasty comet hadn't destroyed your world . . ." Frieza mused, tapping his chin with a black fingernail. "Fifteen is a significant age for a Saiyan prince, Vegeta. It would have meant all your training of body and mind were complete and you could make your bid for the throne."

"You mean defeat my father and become King?" I looked at him in belief. Become ruler of the Saiyan Empire at the age of fifteen? I could hardly fathom the concept. It was so young!

"Yes, and you would have accomplished that feat with little effort. Of that I have no doubt. You're so much stronger now than that weakling King ever was. Surprising, really, because – when all is said and done- you actually _are_ him."

I harbored more than a little anger towards my father for handing me over to this depraved lunatic, but I still didn't like to hear him being disrespected. Struggling with my temper, I admitted, "I don't understand."

"For pity's sake, Vegeta, try to pay attention! Your father needed a son who would be stronger than him. It took five failed attempts before he finally resorted to science. You're not just the lucky result of an egg being fertilized by some sperm-" he made an expression of disgust at that, as if the concept of reproduction was something beneath him. "He added a little extra into the mix, if you know what I mean."

No, I still didn't have a clue what he was talking about and it wasn't long before I was slapped across the face. "Stupid monkey!" Frieza snapped. "You're not just your father's son, you're an empowered copy!"

I could feel the three-fingered palm print against my left cheek like a brand. The shock of it was dulled by what Frieza was suggesting. "You . . . you mean I-I'm a-a-" The last word came out as a choked whisper, ". . . clone?"

The expression on the tyrant's face was one of pure delight. "The boy sees reason at last!" he announced triumphantly to the large room. "To answer your question; no, not quite. You have just enough genetic material from your whore-mother to make your DNA original, but it was definitely tampered. A little tweak here and there. A few blocks of genetic code replaced and enhanced. You're a marvel, really, small stature aside."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked bleakly.

"Oh, don't be upset. It's a wonderful thing to finally know your origins, don't you think? That's my birthday present for you: The truth."

I would have been better off not knowing any of it but I forced myself to mutter, "Thank you, Lord Frieza."

The tyrant leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his black lips stretched wide in a grin that contained absolutely no humor. "I'm not finished."

I didn't want to hear anymore. "Really, milord, I appreciate the-the _gift_-" I started to rise.

Frieza was on his feet, unbelievably fast, and forced me back down. I could feel the strength of his fingers even through the heavy padding of my shoulder guard. "I said I'm not done, boy. How would you like to know that you also have a brother?" At the expression on my face, he laughed, "Oh, but it's true! A younger brother. Five and a half years younger, actually, named Tarble. When I demanded you be given over to me, your father simply created another son to fill the void. What a caring fellow he was, eh Vegeta? This time he used your own genetic code as the template. The boy registered a higher power level than yours so your beloved King sent him off into hiding before I could take any notice."

I was gripping the armrests of my chair and shaking my head in denial. It wasn't true. It _couldn't _be true-!

"You were never meant to live, you know," Frieza continued with thinly veiled amusement. "Your father abandoned you the instant Tarble emerged from his gestation chamber. He was certain you would be killed on one of your missions and that would allow his 'new' son to take your place. After all, you _were_ so pitifully young and puny back then . . . not that much has changed since. Zarbon and Dodoria often made wagers, and even I confess I sometimes had my doubts you'd return. But return you did. I really wish you could have seen the disappointment in your King's face when I bragged to him about your will to survive. Priceless. I rather suspect by that time he was just itching to scratch your existence from the Royal registry."

I'd never understood why my father had cut off all ties once I was in Frieza's custody, not so much as one single coded message. To a child of five it was complete abandonment but I'd thought there must have been some twisted logic behind it all, so I remained loyal to my King. I didn't like what Frieza was now suggesting; that I'd been pawned off as a diversion so that some knock-off could train in safety and someday take what was rightfully mine. "No," I whispered in an unsteady voice.

Frieza observed my distress with cold satisfaction. "You know, if your planet hadn't been destroyed, your title would have been stripped eventually, whether you'd died or not, and your very name taken from you. You would have become 'Tarble' and forced to serve a younger brother who had usurped your very identity. Now, in light of all that, aren't you glad things happened the way they did?"

"This . . . 'brother'. Is he still alive?"

"You father sent him off-world to a refuge far beyond my territory. Crafty old fool. His status is unknown. Your bodyguard used to be in close council to the King. Perhaps, if you have some free time on your upcoming mission, you might want to . . . talk to him."

"Talk," I spat out. By now I was shaking so hard I could barely keep still. "Yes. I imagine we'll have a good long _talk_ about it."

Frieza settled back into his chair and his tail swung back and forth lazily. He was happy with himself, that much was for certain, though for the life of me I couldn't understand why this was giving him so much pleasure. I know he enjoyed making me suffer but this was on a psychological level I'd never encountered before. It made no sense to me at the time. All I could think about at that moment was finding Nappa and learning just how much my supposedly loyal old bodyguard knew about this fraud named 'Tarble'.

"Am I excused, Lord Frieza?" I grated out from between clenched teeth. I was already walking over to where I'd placed my cape, eager to leave this room.

Frieza's next words froze me in place. "No, boy, you're not. I've been extremely generous today and I think I'm due for some reciprocal reward. Don't you think?"

I stared furiously down at the floor, torn between making a run for the door or submitting. The debate didn't last more than two seconds before I was pulling my armor off, knowing any attempt at escape would just make things worse. I'd learned that lesson the hard way. "That's fine, milord," I managed to say in a level voice.

An expression of displeasure crossed the tyrant's face and I realized that maybe he had dropped all of this into my lap just to anger me so I'd put up a fight. When it came to his assaults I no longer resisted, knowing on an unconscious level that it wasn't as much about sex as it was about power and dominance. I let him have his way with my body while my mind was lost to thoughts of murder and vengeance. It was the only part of me he couldn't reach.

Until that day.

"So eager for my touch . . ." That gloating smile of his was suddenly back. "I hope for your sake that your little brother _is_ dead, Vegeta. You would be such a disgrace to him as you are now."

"Shut up," I rasped.

"And your father, a King you revered . . . He let me have you with barely any protest. He knew you would be my plaything and he didn't even care. Unknown to us both, he was already cooking up your replacement-"

"Shut up!"

"Proud Prince of the Saiyans. Look at you! Half naked and ready to-"

Snarling in fury, I attacked him and that was just what the bastard had been counting on. He took me without mercy, savoring my screams as if they were praise and taking them as encouragement to inflict more damage. It wasn't just an assault or rape. When he got his tail into the act, it became pure torture and it seemed to go on forever.

Despite the pain and blood I was still struggling to get out from underneath of him, and that was when . . . _God__, that was when it happened- _

Frieza noticed first and he hurled me away in disgust. "You're enjoying this! Filthy monkey!" he shrieked. "Get out of my sight before I tell the Ginyu Force that they have a new recruit! Leave now!"

Gasping in pain, I managed to gather my ripped clothes and clutching the object of my betrayal I fled from the room. There was cruel laughter from Zarbon and Dodoria and a dim recollection of one telling the other to pay up, that he'd lost the bet. I didn't fathom the meaning behind any of it; all I wanted was to escape that place of pain and humiliation.

I found a storage closet that was unlocked and rushed inside, having enough sense to disable the lock so I could be left alone to suffer in privacy. I crammed myself in the furthest corner I could find, huddling into a shivering, miserable ball in the darkness and trying to come to terms with what had just happened . . .

I didn't know that it was possible for the groin to betray the objections of both body and mind. There was no one to tell me that it was a perfectly natural reaction, despite the terrible circumstances that had incited it, or that it wasn't even my fault: All I knew was that I had gotten an erection in the midst of all that degradation. The only conclusion I could make under those circumstances was that Frieza had finally done it: He'd finally broken me. I didn't know quite how but the evidence was there in plain sight. And that was the precise moment I felt my mind snap like a piece of brittle glass.

_. . . I often think I might have been salvageable before that moment. That maybe, if I'd had as much dumb luck as Kakarrot and found the right people or place, I would have been able to change and become someone noble and worthy and, well, maybe even _'good'_. There had still been a spark of innocence inside me then, a touch of naivety, a glimmer of hope. I had just turned fifteen years old, and had already suffered for ten, but there had still been enough of a child in me to wish for the chance for salvation from someone, something, that could have freed me from this existence. That could have saved what pitifully little there was left of my soul. _

_It all ended for me right then and there._

Sobbing hysterically, I stayed in that cramped hall closet, banging my head against the wall until I think I finally knocked myself out. The void that followed was peaceful, numbing, comforting. I surrendered to it eagerly, not pulling out of that oblivious state until I heard Nappa's voice in the blackness. I instinctively shrank further into a ball, not wanting anyone to see me in this wretched state. I wanted to be invisible. I wanted to be dead.

"_-Vegeta. Is your scouter turned on? Respond!"_

My scouter. I managed to find it in the pile of clothes and armor and put it on. My hands were shaking badly and it took me a few tries before I was able to find my voice. My throat was dry and parched. ". . . I'm here, Nappa," I managed to say.

"_Where the bar'g are you? It's time to ship out to the Vargas sector."_

"That mission isn't scheduled until our leave is over."

There a moment of silence then, _"Our leave _is_ over. We've been trying to get in contact with you for the last two days!"_

I rubbed an absent hand through my hair, feeling dried blood that had matted several of the spikes. Two days? I had been holed up in this miserable closet for two whole days?

Nappa was back, blasting in my ear: _"Vegeta! Where are you?"_

"Stand by," I said absently and turned the scouter off. I rose on aching legs and managed to find a switch, wincing against the light when the single bulb snapped on. Looking down, I released a sickly moan. I was bloody from the waist down to my ankles. The corner I'd made my refuge was fouled with gore and bodily waste and the knowledge that I'd been sleeping in my own filth made me bend over and dry-heave until I saw stars. I had to get out of there. I had to find a place to make myself presentable before anyone could suspect what had happened.

It took some doing to undo the damage to the door lock and I had to physically pry it open. I felt drained and light-headed and my lower belly was cramping in pain but I knew there was little time. There was a locker room down the hall and I snuck inside, hoping that I hadn't stepped into a shift change and would find the place crowded. There was only one guard and his back was to me as I slipped past him to the showers. I don't think I've ever relished the spray of warm water on my body so much as I did then. It took a long time before the water around my feet ran clear. Once I toweled myself dry I took a closer inspection in the mirror. Aside from a lacerated scalp and some bruises on my face and body, it appeared that the majority of the damage was internal. That was good because I could keep that hidden. Going to a regeneration chamber wasn't even an option. Doctor-patient confidentiality was an unknown concept in Frieza's army and a single body-scan would reveal the extent of trauma I'd suffered, and the reason behind it.

I stole a change of clothes and made it back to barracks to retrieve my own armor. By then I was bleeding again. There was little more I could do than stuff a rag down there and pray that the time in stasis would be long enough for my own system to repair the damage. I was almost my old self again by the time I joined Nappa and Radditz at the space port, as least externally. Inside, body and mind, was another matter and neither were ever quite right from that point on, right up to this very day.

Radditz noticed me first and elbowed Nappa who was stalling for more time with the dispatcher responsible for the mission schedule. When I turned my scouter back on I saw the alarm that displayed we were twenty minutes over-due for launch.

"Agh! Finally!" Nappa cried, throwing his arms in the air and walking over to me in long, quick strides. "Why did you shut off your scouter? And where have you been? I- Hey, were you in a fight?"

I stared up at the huge Elite without responding, feeling my anger start to rise. Some bodyguard Nappa had turned out to be. What a joke. Where had he been the first time Frieza took me? Where had he been two fucking days ago?

An even more urgent thought was pressing on my mind: _Just how many secrets was he keeping from me?_

I don't know what would have happened if the dispatcher hadn't made the mistake of touching my arm. I think I would have killed Nappa then, maybe even Radditz, too, if he'd been stupid enough to intervene. All I felt was pure, cold rage. It eclipsed everything else, even the pain in my guts.

"It's about time-" was all that the tall alien had time to say before I ripped his throat out. I was still staring at Nappa, ignoring the twitching corpse that had fallen at my feet. I watched my old friend, easily three feet taller than I was, take a cautious step back, his features transforming into worry and fear. "Vegeta . . ."

Radditz, as usual, was utterly clueless. "Aw great. You've done it now. What say we high-tail it out of here before we're grounded and beaten to a pulp?"

That caught my attention. I couldn't take another beating. Nodding wordlessly, I jumped into my space pod and closed the door. The coordinates of our mission had already been entered into the system and it was just a matter of making a preliminary check and then blasting off. I did so even before the other two had managed to cram their bulks into their own crafts. Once we were on course, I disabled the comm and went eagerly into stasis.

The Vargas system was only a one week jaunt but when we entered the orbit of the fourth, and only hospitable, planet I came out of that suspended animation feeling considerably better for all of thirty seconds before what happened with Frieza came back with crushing force. It was almost like I was experiencing it all over again. One flailing arm hit the comm and I was roused out of my hysteria by the sound of Nappa and Radditz bickering back and forth. It was almost a pleasant thing to hear.

_"-I'm not gonna enable the override and talk to him. You can do it," _Radditz was saying.

_"In a minute," _Nappa stalled. He was good at that. _"Give him a chance to get outta stasis first. He looked pretty rough going in."_

"_You think he got into it with Zarbon or Dodoria? They both looked pretty smug."_

_"It's possible. I think it has more to do with why Frieza changed his plans and-"_

"I can hear you," I finally cut-in, trying to keep my voice level. "Haven't you assholes ever heard of radio silence? Knock it off until we land. Out."

I don't know why I was even bothering with protocol considering I had no plans to go through with this mission, but I knew that communications were always monitored, sometimes by Frieza himself, and I didn't want anything to attract attention to us. My mind was buzzing with things that had nothing to do with purging and we had barely landed and exited our pods when I turned to Radditz and ordered, "Go do some recon. Give me an idea of the terrain."

Radditz looked at me and then spared a bewildered glance at our surroundings. As far as the eye could see there was only blue moss clinging to ground as flat and featureless as a desert. "Uh, do you really think that's necessary-"

"_Get lost!"_ I screamed, whirling on him.

The third-class soldier wasted no time taking to the air and speeding quickly away. I turned back to Nappa and deliberately turned off my scouter. Taking the hint, Nappa did the same. "What's wrong, Vegeta?" He wasn't the smartest man I'd ever met but he could see that I was deliberately singling him out for a reason.

"I want to know about Tarble," I said.

Nappa made the mistake of asking, "Who?" and it was then that I realized I was going to have to beat the information out of him. I never even hesitated. I think, for a time, I was actually grinning while I did it, imagining the body flailing against my fists and kicks was Frieza, or Zarbon, or Dodoria. I'm sure there was even a second or two I saw my own face added in the mix.

In less than five minutes, Nappa was kneeling at my feet with blood dripping from his mouth, cradling his broken ribs. I stared down at him without emotion and asked about Tarble again. The beating must have rattled his memories loose because he starting talking in fits and spurts. "He's your . . . brother. Younger than you. Should have told you buh-but I never even met him."

"If you've never met him, how do you know about him?"

"Your father-" Nappa paused to cough and spit up a mouthful of blood before he pressed on, "The day that Frieza laid claim on you, your father ordered that I find you and bring you to the medical center."

I remembered that day. I had been in the courtyard watching Radditz's father, a commander named Bardock, going through training maneuvers with his team. They had been very entertaining and I was upset when Nappa found me and escorted me to the royal infirmary. My father had been there along with scientists and doctors. Armed with needles and specimen jars they took samples from me for the rest of the day. 'To get me ready for my deployment to Frieza's forces,' was the official explanation when I protested the treatment. "What did they do there?"

"Your father feared the worst. There was no time to create- t-to engineer . . . to-to-"

"Stop babbling! Frieza already told me that my DNA was tampered with so that I'd be superior to my father. Was it the same with Tarble?"

Amazingly, the huge soldier was shaking his head. "Your higher ki level made manipulation of your genetic samples impossible. They were placed immediately into a gestation chamber. There was only the one chance for it to work. When we left the next day, I heard that the result was successful."

I turned away from Nappa, cursing. I wasn't the clone but Tarble was; made directly from my own DNA as a convenient replacement just in case I got myself killed. "He actually registered a higher power level than mine?"

"I don't know."

"He wasn't . . . flawed?" Small, I wanted to say. Short, stunted . . . _defective_. They were all words that whipped through my mind.

"I don't know-"

"_What do you know?"_ I shouted.

"I heard your father make plans to have him sent away . . . if the procedure was successful. He didn't want Frieza to know about him."

It wasn't fair. My father deciding to save that little doppelganger's sorry ass while not hesitating to hand mine over to the wolves. "Send him where?"

"Some world outside of Frieza's territory-"

"_WHERE?"_ I shrieked, bursting with explosive energy.

"Don't know the name-"

I was raising my hand, effortlessly creating a ball of blue ki guaranteed to burn the useless old bastard to a charred crisp.

"Buh-but I know the coordinates!" Nappa said quickly.

I extinguished the lethal ball and crossed my arms with grim satisfaction. "Show me."

It's amazing what the threat of death can do for a person's motivation. In no time, Nappa called up a space grid on the navigational console of his space pod and began sorting through various holographic displays. "There," he said at last, pointing to what amounted to a vague smudge. "System H-7. It's tiny; a small Class 1 star with just one planet. Easily overlooked by astro cartographers, that's why your father chose it."

"Inhabited?"

"I don't know." At this point in time, I was really getting pissed off hearing those three damn words.

"How far away?"

"About six months stasis-" he looked me warily. "You're not thinking of traveling there?"

_Leave the thinking to the higher creatures_, I thought and squeezed my eyes shut as the memories began to surface. I fought them back down, glaring at the holo with burning eyes. "I have to find out if he's still alive, Nappa."

"And . . . ?"

"There can be only one Prince Vegeta." One King and one Prince. That has been the way of my royal bloodline since the time of the First. A ruler and a successor; no more, no less.

"Do you know what will happen when Frieza finds out about this?" There was a surprising amount of concern on his voice but I was oblivious to it. I was fixated on my new mission: To destroy this unknown threat or, if he was as strong as Frieza said, be destroyed by him. Either way, I had no intention of letting Frieza get his hands on me ever again. Without answering, I went over to my space pod, pulled out a set of tools from under the seat, and began prying off several of the outside panels. While I was calibrating the delicate mesh-circuitry Radditz came back from his reconnaissance and landed beside Nappa, staring at him curiously. "Bar'g, what happened to _you?_"

I could only imagine the look the bald Saiyan favored him but I was concentrating on the delicate work of disabling the onboard tracker and resetting the coordinates that would take me to System H-7. I'd spent hours tinkering with the pods in the launch bay between missions and had spent many more observing the various personnel as they maintained and serviced them. I didn't know then about the disgraceful Earth expression of "Monkey see, monkey do," but I personified its meaning very well.

"_New data entered. Vargas mission cancelled, new mission accepted,"_ the female voice of the computer said pleasantly. I replaced the paneling with a grunt of satisfaction.

By now, Radditz was demanding answers but Nappa, loyal to the end, wouldn't say anything about Tarble to a soldier who wasn't an Elite. We tolerated that third-class because we had to, but it didn't mean that he was included in our particular code, especially in personal matters like these.

"You two can complete the mission on schedule. You don't need me," I said. "When you return to the ship, just play dumb. It shouldn't be hard. You don't know what happened to my pod, it just went off course while you were in stasis. That's all."

"When you come back, what will you say happened?" Radditz asked, practically frantic with worry. Not for me, mind you, but out of concern for his own ass. I can't tell you how often I'd intervened on his or Nappa's behalf for one screw-up or another. They were now on their own.

There was a moment of tense silence before Nappa said, "That's for Vegeta to decide. C'mon, we've got work to do." I met his eye and noticed that he didn't drop his gaze like he usually did. It made me wonder if he had noticed that I'd enabled the self-destruct module on the pod before replacing the paneling but, if so, he was smart not to say anything about it. I left them without another word and blasted into space.

The majority of soldiers, especially the hefty bastards like Nappa, complained bitterly about the size of the pods. They're claustrophobic and tedious and, if it weren't for the oblivion of the stasis gas, most would go stark raving mad from the sensory deprivation after just a few days. I never had a problem with them myself. It's the only time I can remember that my small size was actually an advantage. I liked the peace and quiet and isolation and often delayed initiating stasis just so I'd have some time to think and reflect on past events.

This wasn't one of those times. I couldn't go into suspended animation fast enough and it was amazing how fast the six months passed before the computer was informing me that I was approaching the only planet of the H-7 system. To me, it seemed like just a day had gone by.

_Six months . . ._ Frieza would have search parties out looking for me. Perhaps they would have given up by now, I thought hopefully, but abandoned the idea. Hope and the grim reality of what amounted to my life had parted company a long time ago. "What are the planet specs?" I asked the computer, getting back to the task at hand.

"_Hospitable class-A world. No satellites in orbit."_

"No moon?"

"_Negative." _With that little tidbit I realized that turning Oozaru, my wildcard if things went south, wasn't an option. Not without creating a Power Ball, and transforming under those false moons always came with side-effects.

"Any inhabitants?"

"_Unknown."_

"Any life signs?"

"_Unknown."_

"Damn it." It was like talking to Nappa all over again only I couldn't beat the shit out of this particular aggravation.

"_Indeterminate response. Please restate your query."_

"Land. I don't care where. Just shut up and land."

"_Acknowledged,"_ the computer said smartly and my hands twitched at a loss for something to throttle. I immediately felt the sharp arc of descent and waited for impact, my mind whirling with scenarios of what I might encounter. Father wouldn't have sent his supposedly 'favored son' into a danger zone, so resistance would probably be minimal. Chances were that my double had purged the world, leaving just him and perhaps a bodyguard or two around for company. I looked through the portal set into the door and couldn't help but notice that the rapidly approaching planet didn't look like it had gone through a purge. There were no identifiable scars on the visible land masses, which looked lush and abundant. Perhaps I was hunting for a ghost. There were just too many unknowns here to set my mind at ease.

The pod landed and the door opened after decompression was complete. I took a sniff of the air, detecting the heady aroma of flowers, and sneezed. After all that time living on canned air, the shock of an actual atmosphere was always a little overwhelming. "Computer, any trace of Saiyan space pods?"

"_Affirmative. One is active, one is dormant."_

"Relay their coordinates to my scouter."

"_Done."_

I took to the air, following the directional arrows displayed on the screen over my left eye. I tried to take a few readings of the terrain below me but the results were inconclusive. There were lower life forms, creatures that barely created more than a blip on the radar, but every once in a while there was a huge ki reading, only to disappear with the next sensor sweep. It was as if something was detecting me and cloaking itself. That spoke of technology or power, possibly both, so I was on my guard.

I found the space pods in little time. They were side by side beneath a tarp next to a shelter made of wood and stones. Classic Saiyan design and surprisingly large, obviously time had been spent expanding and maintaining it for long term use. There was a little tendril of smoke from the chimney and I pulled open the door and cautiously went inside, powering up just in case I met resistance. It was empty, filled with the scent of burning embers and recently cooked meat. My stomach rumbled and I was reminded that the last time I had eaten had been several hours before Frieza-

I flailed at the empty air, recoiling, trying to beat the memories away and fell backwards into a pit filled with cured pelts and aromatic wood shavings. A hrasa'an, a Saiyan sleeping nest. I hadn't been in one since my boyhood. It had been recently used, full of the heavy scent of another Elite. Saiyan armor lay in one corner, as large as Nappa's, and I began to feel a tendril of unease. Did it belong to Tarble? The kid would only be ten years old but it's possible that father and his cracker-jack team of scientists may have managed to tweak my DNA after all and create a monster.

I felt that indignant rage rise up again. There could only be _one_ Prince Vegeta and that was going to be _me!_ With a scream of fury, I blasted off into the sky and began scanning for power signals. There was a concentration of ki's not far away, massive power signatures, and I released a blast into the ground to test the reaction of these unknown natives. It was a fertile world but also fragile and the earth reacted to my bolt as if I'd hit a living thing, creating undulating tremors that devastated the countryside. I followed the fissures and saw a small alien village crumbling under the onslaught and tampered with my scouter, trying to get readings. Energy signatures were winking in and out but one remained constant. It was low, stable, and definitely Saiyan.

I'd found him.

He was wearing the rags of a native but I could see his tail waving back and forth as he was fussing over some bulbous-headed creature. His size put me off guard as well as his power level. Both were pathetic. _This _was my replacement? _This_ was the son that my father had favored and had sent off to safety while sending me to hell? _HIM?_ I landed behind him, struggling with my temper, and only managed to say, "There you are," before kicking him across the face. His power reading dropped abruptly to zero and I figured I'd killed him right then and there. Damn, and I'd wanted to play a little first . . .

My scouter trilled and I looked up in time to see the village and people disappear, leaving behind a near-perfect mirage of forest and foliage. I was still trying to figure out if it was technology I was dealing with or something else when I registered movement and saw that the little shit had recovered and was checking me out. "Tarble," I said through clenched teeth.

"Brother?" came the innocuous question.

_Of all the nerve . . ._ "Don't call me that! You have no right!" I powered up, my pressure wave easily buffeting him aside. He was small, frail, virtually powerless. I couldn't comprehend why my father had set all his hopes of the Saiyan Empire on this pathetic creature. Even as I stalked him, he tried to talk his way out of the fight and I had to educate him on the strength of power over words. The hard way. As I threw the blast guaranteed to end his miserable life, a figure phased into the path and channeled the energy. For an instant, I thought it was Nappa until I saw the tuft of red hair on his broad pate. "Shiitake." I remembered him. Another acolyte of my father's, and he played just as dumb as Nappa had earlier when asked direct questions.

A couple of well-placed blows didn't stop his sharp tongue, either. He was grinning when he looked at me and remarked, "Your training under Frieza has obviously left its mark on you."

I wasn't sure of he meant it as a double-entendre but that's how I took it. Frieza's perversions weren't exactly the best kept secret in the Empire. At the end of our fight, there was a peaceful expression on his face and I realized that this was something he wanted: Death in battle. A warrior's release. Who better to grant that than the last true Prince of the Saiyans? I put him out of his misery quickly (a gift considering my shitty mood). I vowed that my 'brother' wasn't going to be as lucky.

I pinned Tarble down to the ground with barely any effort and saw the tears that marked his cheeks. Weakness aside, it was like looking at a mirror, one that delayed the image by five or so years. That was my face, with bangs still hanging in the eyes and cheeks still pudgy with lingering baby fat. "What a joke you turned out to be," I muttered while he bawled on and on about the fate of his bodyguard. I faltered in my resolve for a few seconds there, I'll admit, and was surprised when one of the aliens suddenly appeared beside me, not fazed by any of this violence in the least. Threats did nothing to detour it and when I attempted to blast it away, my own beam bounced back and nailed me in the shoulder. Fuck, I hate it when that happens.

I tried a Gallic Gun attack and saw the whole tribe of freaks appear and buffet my most powerful blast into the air without any visible effort on their part. I knew then and there it was time to get away and regroup. As I tried to fly, my own cape betrayed me and suddenly became a shroud. I felt the impact with the ground and quickly shredded the garment before it could happen again. I let a multitude of blasts fly from my fingers only to have the damn things turn in midair and chase me. Before I could recover, some incredible unseen force simply plucked me out of the sky and hurled me into the nearest tree. It hurt. A _lot_.

Damned if the little bastards weren't just staring at me as I slowly got to my feet. Several began to approach. My scouter was damaged and offline. It was probably just as well. The damn thing would have probably exploded and blinded me if I'd attempted a reading. The little aliens didn't look like much but they radiated power and that was the one thing I'd come to respect. I decided to hold my ground and see what the hell they were about.

There was tickle in my mind and a blaze of words, too fast to sort out. Psionics. It explained how they had been able to stay hidden for so long. I was telepathic, most Elites were, and responded with something along the lines of: _-Slow down._

The five of them looked very excited to find me receptive. Hooray for the monkey. _– Why have you come here? _They asked as a group mind. The volume was a little extreme but I tried not to show my discomfort when I responded with_, -Personal business. If you'll all just turn your backs for about, oh, ten or so seconds I'll finish up here and be on my way._

_-We cannot let you kill the child._

_-That 'child' is more my property than yours, freak._

They looked bewildered by that statement_. –Please explain_, one said plaintively.

I'm not sure who was more surprised by the fact that I actually did; them or me. I think I wanted another opinion on the subject, one that was impartial and didn't have any vested interest in the matters of Saiyans or their eccentric, cruel ways. The little aliens appeared to consider my words seriously before one pointed out, _-He's not what you thought._

_-No_, I admitted, glancing over at my younger double before looking back at them. _– It doesn't matter. I'm here to kill him and I'm not leaving until I do._

_- You're more than welcome to stay here._

– _You don't have anything here that interests me-_

_- Friendship? Freedom? Safety?_

_- Those concepts don't mean anything to me anymore_, I responded coldly, dismayed that it was the truth. It was too late for me. My reaction to Frieza's assault was proof enough of that.

I felt them burrowing deeper into my thoughts and fought to erect a barrier. I was out of practice for such fine work. They were walking the hallways of my memory with the excitement of tourists, sorting through the images at near-light speeds. God, their power and control was unbelievable. _–Out! Get out! Get out of my head!_ I had barely sent out that mental protest when they'd already retreated, satisfied, staring at me with their round, peaceful faces as if nothing had happened.

_-You have been poorly used,_ they concluded sadly.

_-What of it?_ I challenged, trying not to appear shaken by the display of their mental skill.

_- You did not deserve what happened to you._

_- No shit. That should have been his fate! Not mine! His!_

_- . . . You would have wished all that torment on another innocent?_

There it was, plain as day and in black and white. The true reason behind all my hate and all my rage. As far as I was concerned, I should have been the one safe and happy here on this peaceful little world and it should have been Tarble getting butt-fucked near to death on a near-regular basis. I thought of that ten year-old face again, my face, having to endure that torture all over again and I broke off contact with the aliens and turned away, confused for the first time since deciding to come here.

One of them approached and touched my arm. There was strength in that small hand and a warmth that penetrated my body suit and seemed to sink into the muscle and beyond. It seemed to actually ease the pain I was still feeling deep in my bowels. I stared at him out of the corner of my eye and heard, _-It's unfortunate what's happened to you but Tarble is safe here. And happy. Would you be the one to take all that away from him?_

On the heels of that, the creature added, _- Would you be like Frieza?_

That was it. I wrenched my arm free and turned and walked away from them, trying to sort out my thoughts. Nothing made sense any more. My eyes blurred with bitter tears and I struggled to regain my composure, feeling the heaviness of their thoughts tracking the flow of mine while I wrestled with what to do. I still wanted to kill Tarble but it was for all the wrong reasons, I knew that now. I was bitterly angry at my father, furious at Frieza, resentful of Nappa, disgusted at myself, and all that pain and anger had concentrated on a single, convenient target: Tarble.

_Would you be like Frieza?_

Translation: Would you kill this innocent without mercy? Would you deprive him of the chance to live a peaceful life among the people who care for him, free from concepts of torture or slavery?

_No and . . . no._ Because he was a part of me, maybe that good part I knew I'd lost that horrible day in Frieza's office. The part I knew I'd never get back. It was here. _He_ was here. Tarble. And I realized that I couldn't kill him.

I looked back at the aliens and saw that they were smiling again, no doubt having caught my conclusion. I sure as hell didn't see anything worth smiling about, that's for sure, and as far as I was concerned neither did they. – _Someone will be sent to follow my back-trail,_ I cautioned them.

_- They will never find this world_, they assured me.

I'd gotten a taste of what they could do. I left it at that and walked over to where the brat was standing. I could see that he was close to bolting and I probably would have let him go without a chase if he had run but he didn't. I grabbed his face and examined it more closely this time, ignoring his protests. No, not quite my reflection. I'd been wrong. The eyes were different, a lighter brown, and he was smaller than I'd been at that age. He was powerless, stunted. Whatever defect that existed in my genetic make-up obviously had carried over to his, not evident until he'd started aging. No, father wouldn't have been so impressed with him, after all. Hell, if not for that 'comet', Frieza would probably have had two little Saiyan boys to play with instead of just the one.

Lucky bastard. I pushed him backwards, watching him fall on his ass. It was actually kind of funny. "Brother," I muttered, tasting the word and not finding it quite as bitter anymore. That was good enough for me. I turned my back and left, not caring if I ever saw him again. He would have a decent life here. At least one of us deserved that much, I figured.

I returned to my pod and eyed it for a few seconds and then went about the task of resetting the computer, destroying any evidence of this course deviation. That completed, I left the planet, deliberately keeping my eyes averted from the viewing portal until I'd returned to empty space. I didn't need to further rub my nose in the fact that this appeared to be a beautiful, thriving world with plenty of free-range game and protected by a powerful, benevolent people. I could see enough of that from orbit. God, it was so green . . . there was even an ocean. I laid a hand on the cold glass, wondering if I had made a mistake leaving so quickly-

The planet suddenly winked out of sight. The little psychic goblins had cloaked it as easily as they had their village when I'd first attacked. I guess they were still tracking my thoughts and thought it best to hide their planet before I could change my mind and return. I wasn't all that surprised. I think a part of me had been expecting something like that; just another door slammed in my face.

"Computer, enable self-destruct sequence," I said, slumping back in my seat. "On my mark."

"_Enabled,"_ the computer said pleasantly, oblivious to the concept of self-preservation just as I was at that moment.

"Mark. Silent countdown."

The computer stayed quiet but I watched the numbers on the tiny interface counting backwards from sixty seconds. I laid my head back in the cushioned seat and closed my eyes, bracing myself for the end. I wasn't going to return to Frieza. I wasn't going to make a run for it. I obviously wasn't going to live happily-ever-after with my pathetic brother. What other choice was there for me?

_To live._

I snorted bitterly. "To live for what?"

_For the future._

A future of sodomy, humiliation, mindless violence. Frieza was molding me into his image and from the way things were going; I was well on my way into becoming a worthy successor. My powers were growing in proportion to my mental instability. I would become an actual threat in a few more years, I could sense it happening. A destroyer of worlds.

_Tarble would not like that to happen._

"Screw Tarble!" I said viciously. "This is about _my_ life, not his! Let me end it with some dignity."

_This is not dignity, Vegeta. This is cowardice_.

I sat up straight in my chair, looking around. The reading on the display was down to eighteen seconds. I felt the first drop of sweat run down the side of my face. "It's not cowardice, it-it's-"

_It's about giving up_, that soft voice responded and I realized that the little bastards on the planet hadn't completely abandoned me, after all. _It's about surrendering your precious, unique life instead of taking control of it. Things will change for the better. They have to. Patience._

"Patience!" I spat out the word. "Endure another ten years of this life? Twenty? How long?"

_Patience,_ the voice repeated and went silent.

I looked at the display. It was down to the single digits now: _Eight . . . Seven . . . Six . . ._ Fuck.

"Computer, stop the self-destruct sequence."

"_Acknowledged."_

I stared at the number "2" on the display for a long time and suddenly drove my heel into the console with a bitter curse. The computer made a garbled sound of protest and I half expected the pod to blow up anyway. I brooded about what to do next for over an hour and realized there was only one thing I _could_ do: Return to Frieza and take my punishment like a mon-

I corrected myself. Take my punishment like a _man_. Like a true Saiyan Prince. It was a meaningless title of a dead race but it was all I had to call my own. Meeting Tarble had cemented the fact that I was the worthy one and I was damn well holding onto it. "Set course for the Vargas sector."

"_Ack-k-k-k-nowledg-g-ged."_ Great. Now I had to put up with a stuttering computer. It suddenly occurred to me that this had been one very long goddamned day and I was exhausted, starved, and discouraged. I knew what was waiting for me when I got back and I could feel my sphincter tighten in helpless reaction. To get my mind off of that, I wondered idly if Nappa and Radditz were still alive. It might help to pass the days if I had a little company, even if it was with just those two buffoons.

"Enable stasis ASAP."

"Enab-b-b-b-b-b-" The damn thing was caught in a loop. Just before I kicked it again, the gas jets went off and I surrendered to the oblivion of suspended animation, my pod returning to Frieza's empire. To _him._

You're not supposed to dream while in stasis but I'm positive that I did for those six months; living on a world that was full of abundant game and where the water was pure and sweet and the nights were full of uncharted stars. I should have found it boring but I didn't. I should have found it lonely but I wasn't. For six months I was actually happy: The one important thing I'd been missing since the day I was ripped from my kingdom and placed into bondage at the young age of five. I'd almost forgotten what it was actually like to feel so at peace. It was . . . _wonderful._

The dream ended with an impact that set off the pod's alarms and before I'd fully recovered from the transition of stasis to reality, my pod door was pried open and I saw the grinning faces of Zarbon and Dodoria peering in at me. Talk about a rude awakening!

"Well, well, well," Zarbon purred, leaning against the side of the pod. "Look who's finally decided to return from his vacation."

Dodoria grinned. "Hah! You bring me back a present, kid?"

"Just this," I said and spit in his face. What the hell, they were there to beat the shit out of me anyway. I figured I'd just as soon quit this dancing around and get it over with. Which they did in short order.

When it was over, they dragged me before Frieza and dumped me at his feet. I lay with my face against the floor, struggling with my breathing before cold, white fingers grabbed me by the jaw and raised my head. When I managed to force my eyes open, I was shocked to see that Frieza was smiling. "Did you find Tarble?"

"Y-yes, milord."

"Did you kill him?"

I answered without hesitation. "Yes, milord."

His smile broadened with satisfaction. In that instant I could almost catch the run of his thoughts: One less Saiyan for him to have to worry about. I had done his work for him, at least as far as he was concerned. It stunned me that I had actually managed to get one over on the depraved lunatic. I could hardly believe it. From that point on, Tarble became my talisman whenever I faced Frieza. It was a much-needed reminder that the almighty Frieza was still a fallible being and that somehow, someday, I was going to kill him for what he'd done to me and mine.

_Patience,_ the voice had said. Fine. I'll show it the meaning of the word.

"I'm still going to have to punish you for your disobedience. You know that, don't you?"

"I know, Lord Frieza."

And that's just what he did.

I barely even noticed.

* * *

Next chapter: The brothers finally talk face to face.


	4. A Moment of Civility

_Screw school._

That was Trunks' state of mind as he looked at his home from across the street. He was in his school uniform with his backpack full of books and paperwork. He had eaten breakfast with his mom and their two 'houseguests', and then left on schedule as if all well. But all was _not_ well, it hadn't been for two days now and the ten year old brooded heavily as he sat on the rooftop ledge of a bank building, his legs dangling precariously over the side, watching the people below go about their lives. He had been there for over five hours, concentrating until his head felt as if it were splitting in two, ignoring the sun beating down on him, or the growling reminders of his stomach telling him that he'd missed lunch.

His father had been ignoring him since he had come home from school yesterday afternoon, and he didn't like that one little bit. His mother was trying to act as if everything was perfectly fine but the boy saw right through that facade. He had gotten used to his father being constantly within reach for the last two years and this sudden void distressed him on a level he could barely express.

_It has to do with Tarble_, he reasoned correctly. _Dad's never mentioned him before and I know he's never seen him in the ten years I've been around. Mom doesn't seem to know anything about him, either, and that's really weird. Those two are tight, well . . . when they're not fighting they are, and they don't do that like they used to. I wonder what's wrong._

"Has it ever occurred to you," spoke a voice directly behind him, "That maybe it's just none of your business?"

Whirling around, Trunks saw his father had snuck up behind him. He really wondered how he managed to do that so easily but then his mind switched gears and clicked onto other matters. "Why'd you leave like that?" he asked, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice. "Why didn't you tell anybody you were going away? And- _Why were you ignoring me?"_

Vegeta regarded him for a few seconds and then sat down beside him on the ledge. He considered the view as he said, "Don't take it personal, Trunks. I needed to get away and think for awhile."

"You couldn't do that at home?"

"No."

"Because of Tarble?"

"Yes."

"Why? What happened, dad?"

Vegeta stared at him out of the corner of his eye and met the anxious gaze of his son. He would have liked to have stayed away for a little longer to try and work this out in his mind, but he could see the worry in the boy's face, the exhaustion, and was glad that he'd cut it short. "When I was fifteen, I hunted him down and tried to kill him. I wasn't in my right mind, I wasn't for a very long time, and he was just another victim I left in my wake of destruction."

Blinking in surprise at the confession, Trunks realized that his mouth was gaping open and shut it with a snap. He continued to stare at his father in astonishment.

When the silence stretched on, Vegeta churlishly asked, "What?"

"I-I dunno. I just expected you to snort and cross your arms and tell me 'Nothing', like you usually do," the youth responded honestly.

Vegeta snorted and crossed his arms but he said, "You deserved an explanation. I gave you one."

"Why'd you attack him, dad?" Trunks asked and when he got no answer he whispered, "Was it something Frieza did?"

Vegeta visibly flinched. "I'm not comfortable hearing the name of that son-of-a-bitch come out of your mouth, Trunks. I don't _ever_ want to hear it again."

"Okay, but I . . . I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yeah, you're right, but I should have known better. Thankfully, I came to my senses in time but the issue still remains unresolved between us."

"So that's why you came back, right? To talk to Tarble?"

"No," Vegeta said, suddenly glaring at him. "I came back because I couldn't sort a thought through my head with you hammering away all day at my mental shields. Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

Trunks squirmed in place. "I was worried about you. You could have sent me back a message that everything was alright, y'know."

_But everything isn't all right, _Vegeta thought morosely, wondering what to say as an answer. _If I'd opened my mind just enough to respond, you might have seen what I was thinking about. I couldn't risk that._ "You're right," he said instead, and on the heels of that was the even rarer, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Trunks said, looking away. He had been straining his mind for the entire day trying to reach his father's mind and now, sitting next to him, he had just heard his father's thoughts as if they had been purposely projected. It was something awful then, something in his past that he didn't want his son to know. At that moment, Trunks realized that he didn't want to push it. "I guess I should head off to school . . ."

"Why bother?" Vegeta surprised him by saying. "You might as well go home. Harassing me for the last two days must have taken a lot out of you."

"You don't look much better," Trunks responded honestly, ignoring the usual sarcasm. His father looked tired, discouraged . . . beaten. They weren't words that usually described the man's appearance. "Looks like you could use some rest yourself."

_And wake up screaming? No thanks. There won't be any sleep for me for quite awhile,_ Vegeta thought, running an absent hand through his lank hair. He wouldn't say no to a shower, though. "I need to talk to your mother first. And then . . . I don't sense Tarble. I don't suppose he's left the planet?" he asked hopefully.

Trunks was looking at him strangely before shaking his head. "No. He mentioned at breakfast that he wanted to take Gure for a tour of Earth. I saw them fly off a couple of hours ago."

"Good," Vegeta said, standing. He really didn't want to face the smaller man just yet.

"He seems really nice, dad," Trunks piped up, taking the hint and collecting his backpack. "Him and Gure both."

_Of course he is,_ Trunks heard his father thinking bitterly. _After all, he was the Chosen One. Lucky little shit. He- You're hearing this, aren't you?_ His face reddened when he saw his father staring at him with narrowed eyes. "I-I'm sorry, dad!" he said, taking a step backwards.

The sound of Vegeta's mental shields slamming down was almost an audible _–Clank!-_ in both of their minds. Of the two, it was hard to say whose face was more flushed; Trunks' from embarrassment, Vegeta's from anger. "Go home," the Saiyan growled and derived no pleasure at the speed in which his son obeyed his order.

* * *

Bulma collated photocopies at the office printer, thinking that this was really her secretary's job but did it herself to keep busy. It was a light day with few distractions and that was what the company's President really wanted: To be occupied, to have her mind fixated on company business rather then worry about her husband.

Tarble hadn't told her a damned thing! He was still insisting that it was between him and Vegeta to work out. It was driving her crazy! Bulma wondered if it was a ploy to absolve Vegeta of any responsibility or if there was some other ulterior motive behind the small Saiyan's stalling. He didn't look like some devious mastermind but, then again, she and the rest of the Z Fighters had been deceived before by aliens smaller than him. She wondered idly if she should get the rest of her friends in on this, just to make sure Vegeta was alright. Trunks hadn't made contact with him yet, and that worried her on a level that she hadn't felt for almost two years.

_Perhaps just a call to Krillin_, she thought, heading back to her office with the armload of papers pressed to her chest. _Just start out with a simple 'Hi, how are you guys doing?' sort of deal and then subtly ask if any of them had sensed Vegeta lately. It'll bring up questions but then, they all saw him take off in a huff at the end of the hotel gala. Goku would come in handy with that teleportation skill of his, but I don't want to involve him unless I'm sure that something's wrong. Well . . . something is, but_-

She was entirely engrossed in her mental debate, barely registering that her secretary was absent (_she takes way too many coffee breaks, I'm going to have to talk to her about that_), and walked into her office. It wasn't until she was halfway to her desk that she noticed her seat was occupied.

Vegeta swiveled the chair around and nodded at her as if nothing had happened. "Hey."

"'Hey'?" she echoed in disbelief, dropping her carefully sorted papers to the carpet in a heap. "You've been off God knows where for almost two days and all you have to say is, 'Hey'?"

"What would you prefer to hear?"

"'I'm sorry' would be a good start!"

"Fine. I'm sorry," he said and damned if he didn't sound as if he actually meant it.

"Where were you? I called every hotel in the city!"

He offered her a distracted wave. "I was over a thousand miles away on some island."

It certainly explained his disheveled appearance. She blew out air through her nostrils in a controlled huff, regarding him for a long moment. She wanted to stay angry but knew she had her part to share in this, too. It had been weighing heavily on her mind ever since she had read that terse message on his cell phone. "I guess you called my bluff, didn't you?" she ended up saying as a sigh. "I should have asked you if they could stay first. I sometimes forget that not everybody is as crazy about their family as I am."

"Or as crazy _as_ them."

"Oh, the Saiyan Prince just cracked a joke. Har de har har, funny man. You have a lot of explaining to do, especially to Trunks-"

"I already spoke to Trunks. We're . . . fine."

"You went to his school?"

Vegeta hesitated and there was an odd expression on his face that made Bulma realize: "He didn't go to school, did he? That little fink!"

"He was sending to me all day. It took a lot out of him."

"And out of you, too, from the looks of things." Bulma said, coming around the desk and peering closer at his face. There were dark circles under his eyes and lines she was certain hadn't been there before. "When's the last time you slept?"

"You should know, you were there."

"Hm, two nights ago. That's what I thought." She hoisted herself up on the desk and sat so that her legs were on either side of the armrests of the chair. Normally, that would have been enough of an invitation for Vegeta to move in and start flirting with her; after all, she was wearing a petite skirt that didn't leave much to the imagination in this position. Instead, he remained leaned back, his gaze distant and faraway, barely noticing her. "It's bad, isn't it?" she said gravely. "I can see it in your face."

He raised his eyes to hers. "You have no idea."

"No, I don't but . . . I'm willing to listen, if you'll tell me."

He appeared to consider it, staring at something on the far wall for a long time, debating. Finally, he reached for her hand and gently tugged on it and she settled gratefully into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. He seemed to start to finally relax, pulling her closer and resting his forehead on her shoulder. Releasing a sigh that seemed to come from the cellar of his soul and in a voice that was nearly a whisper, he told her-

Everything.

By the end of it, Bulma was running a hand gently back and forth through his hair in a comforting caress. Her eyes were dry from the retelling of the grim account, his were not. She patiently waited for him to recover, saying nothing until he had composed himself. He was ill-equipped to dealing with emotions like grief or regret, relying on his sufferable pride to cope with events that would crush any other person. She wanted to tell him it took great strength to face this memory and even more to share it, but she knew that any words she could offer would only make him feel worse. As far as he was concerned weakness wasn't an option for Princes or soldiers or Saiyans and was a flaw of character he had to deal with, one among many.

Finally, he pulled away from her, running his palm roughly up one cheek.

"Do you feel better?" she asked.

He slowly shook his head, his eyes downcast. "It just makes me realize how out of control I actually was. Just a crazy monkey-"

"Hey!" she lightly tapped his nose with her finger. "I don't want to hear that crap coming out of you, got it? You were only fifteen! Frieza played his cruel brand of mind tricks and then assaulted you. How could you have been in your right mind after all that? You couldn't be. You have to accept that or it will tear you apart."

He didn't respond.

"You hear me?" she persisted. She didn't like it when he shut down and went silent. That was when he started drifting over to what Trunks labeled as 'the dark side'. "Vegeta?" She waved a hand in front of his face.

"I hear you," he murmured at last, blinking as if coming out of a spell. He became animated again and she dropped down to her feet as he stood up.

"You're exhausted," she observed. "I bet you haven't eaten either, have you?" At his bleak expression, she sighed. "Go to bed. I'll bring up a tray from the kitchen. I'll have Antony make that sub you like so much, the one with the bananas and pickled eggs-" she almost gagged just thinking about it.

"I'm not hungry," he said, and that worried her even more.

"Go to bed," she repeated, her words a desperate entreaty and he left her office without another word.

Upstairs in their bedroom, he cast the bed a brief glance and then went into the bathroom to undress and step into the shower. Normally, he just turned on the cold faucet but this time he wanted something a little more soothing. The pulsating spray of warm water on his tense muscles was a welcome sensation and he stood with his head under the spray for a very long time, his hands braced against the wall.

As liberating as it had been to share his burden of what he'd gone through, he was starting to regret the weakness of spirit that had prompted him to unload it all to Bulma. It should have remained a private matter, one among many of the scandalous things he carried on his shoulders. He didn't deserve consolation or forgiveness, and he sure as hell didn't want to deal with her pity-

He suddenly rammed his forehead into the tiles with a livid curse and then staggered back, blinking numbly at the hole he'd made. Plucking a piece of broken ceramic from the wall, he placed it in his palm and considered it, his fingers trembling. Finally, he threw it down and shut off the water. He didn't want to start a course of action he knew he would end up regretting. He had to deal with this mess rationally, not resort to old means to get his mind off of what he knew he must do.

He had to talk to Tarble.

Stepping out of the shower, he was so distracted by that prospect he didn't register another presence in the room until fingers grazed his shoulder. He swung out blindly, his wet feet slipping out from underneath of him and he fell against the bathroom wall, glaring up at the intruder.

It was only Bulma. "I heard a noise. I just wanted to see if you were all right." She looked into the shower and saw the busted wall and her eyes skimmed over the weal on his forehead. "I guess I have my answer," she said quietly.

Grabbing a towel from the nearest rack, he pulled it around his waist as he climbed back to his feet. "I'm all right," he grumbled, heading for the door.

"No, you're not. You're not anywhere close." She followed him into their bedroom and managed to pull him to a stop. The muscles across his shoulders and along his arms were twitching from stress. When she looked at his face, all he could do was stare down at the carpet, his cheeks crimson. "Look at me, Vegeta. _Please_."

He met her eyes with effort, shaking.

"I'm glad that you told me," she said, touching his face. "I'm so glad that you felt you could trust me with this."

"I won't be pitied, Bulma," he said roughly.

She looked shocked by that. "I don't pity you! I know what torture you went through with Frieza. I dealt with that a long time ago, remember? I admire you for how well you're dealing with this."

He pulled away from her. "I'm _not_ dealing with it. Can't you see that?"

"I see a man trying to cope with this burden all on his own. You're _not_ alone. You have a wife who loves you, a son who worships you . . ." she lapsed into troubled silence.

"And a clone passing himself off as my younger brother," he finished for her. He threw the towel aside and went over to the closet and selected a pair of tan trousers and a short-sleeved dark blue shirt. He got dressed in quick, spastic jerks.

"You two need to talk, but not right now."

"It's too late for that," he said in an odd tone, lacing up his shoes. "They're back."

* * *

Tarble was stunned by the excessive water reserves visible on this world. It was truly fortunate that Earth was far beyond the borders of what had once been the Planet Trade Organization or this place would have been purged and sold in short order. Water was one of the rarest elements in regulated space, more precious than gold or diamonds, both of which were created cheaply through artificial means and dismissed as mere trinkets among the civilized worlds. Air could be modified or altered as needed but water, the life host of most sentient beings, was highly revered and coveted.

_And this planet was seventy percent water!_

Surely Vegeta would have recognized its worth the instant he made orbit. It must have crossed his mind that, even by private sale, he could have escaped Frieza's hold and found salvation on a planet of his own, bathing in the leftover riches worthy of a Prince. Yet here this planet remained and, from what Tarble understood talking with Trunks, it was fiercely protected by Vegeta and various allies from threats both alien and arcane.

Vegeta had assisted in the purging of hundreds of inhabited planets and yet he had spared this one primitive world, mating with a native, and settling down to a simple life. Tarble had to find out how it had all happened.

"He's back," Gure said when Tarble settled them down on the lawn near the front door of the headquarters building.

That roused him from his thoughts. He didn't have to question who she was talking about. "How is he?"

"Still very upset," the little alien said quietly. "Bulma is with him now. She appears to be comforting him. They're very close," she made the gesture of reverently placing the palm of her left hand on her forehead, indicating a bond.

"But she's not a telepath, is she?"

Gure closed her eyes, evaluating what she was sensing and betrayed a shake of the head that was more puzzled than dismissive. "What they share . . . it's very unique. It's beyond familiarity, or friendship, or even intimacy. It's-" she made a strange face and looked up at her mate in confusion, ". . . Sihskar?"

"It's Saiyago. It means 'Trust'," Tarble explained with a curt nod of understanding. "The rarest of all emotions among Saiyans, according to Shiitake. Vegeta trusts her-"

"And she in him," Gure finished.

Tarble nodded, lapsing into silence as he stared up at the huge domed building. There were so many questions that he wanted answered that his small frame practically ached with longing. His eyes widened when he saw a figure stepping out onto one of the second-floor balconies, returning his look. After about a minute of this silent stand-off, Vegeta jumped to the ground and advanced in quick, ground-eating strides.

If it hadn't been for that unmistakable flame style of hair, Tarble would have almost passed him off as a native. Vegeta was wearing Earth casuals and he wore them well, the fabric clinging to his muscular frame and the subtle coloring enhancing his haunting good looks. It was a striking difference from the other day when he had been wearing revised Saiyan armor.

"You still have enough energy left for flight?" the taller Saiyan asked.

Tarble was drained from his earlier excursion but knew better than to say so. He meekly offered a nod.

"Follow me," Vegeta said, and took to the air. He was such a blur that Tarble lost sight of him almost immediately and levitated above the courtyard with his hand over his eyes to try and spot the contrail of his brother's passage. A hand suddenly closed on his shoulder guard, spinning him around.

"You're pathetic," Vegeta sneered, floating beside him. "Try to keep up."

This time, Tarble was able to keep track of his flight but only because Vegeta slowed down drastically in order for the small man to keep pace. They didn't have to go far and that was good, because Tarble energy reserves, what little he actually possessed, were depleting rapidly. Vegeta kept track of it, adjusting his speed and altitude so flight would be less of a strain on the other Saiyan and privately cursing himself for giving a shit.

In less than an hour, their jaunt came to an end when Vegeta dropped down in the middle of an arid desert. The only scenery were jagged buttes and sage grass and eroded craters. If Tarble still had his scouter, it might have caught traces of expended ki still trapped in rocks that had been disturbed from a hundred thousand years of slumber by an epic battle that had taken place almost fifteen years ago.

"Where are we?" Tarble dared to ask.

Vegeta ignored him as he appeared to collect his bearings and walked over to an indentation in the hard ground that looked roughly man-shaped. He crouched beside it and ran his hand along the ridge. "I don't wish to discuss these things in English. There are natives here with keen hearing and this is none of their business."

"Galactic Standard is fine. Or would you prefer Saiyago?"

Vegeta looked surprised by that. "You know it?"

"Yes, although I haven't spoken it in decades. Not since . . ." He thought of his loyal bodyguard, dead for decades, and fell into troubled silence.

"Saiyago it is," the elder Prince said, and in the tongue of their dead race asked, "How much do you know?"

"Everything," Tarble said, grateful that Vegeta appeared to be willing to talk at long last. "Gure's elders explained to me why you came to our planet. King Vegeta had intended me to be your replacement, that's why I was sent there. Whatever cloning technology that he used, it must have been defective. I don't have much for power, and what I do possess fades quickly. You came to kill me because you thought I was a threat."

"Yes."

"Why did you kill Shiitake?"

Vegeta looked up from the disturbed ground and eyed his small double carefully. "He wanted to die. Didn't you know that?"

"That's not true!"

"Was he happy on your world? Did he enjoy that life of peace?"

Tarble considered how his old guardian had withdrawn once his charge had started cohabitating among Gure's people; staring at the stars, listening to the space bands for hours on end as soldiers across the cosmos engaged in conversation. In fact, the last time Tarble had seen him smile-

-had been the day he had spoken to his Prince.

"He wanted to fall in combat with a warrior's death. I gave that to him," Vegeta said, straightening and patting his hands free of dirt.

"The elders also told me some other things . . . "

Vegeta cocked a heavy brow but said nothing.

"Frieza tortured you." It was not a question.

Vegeta thought about the usual denials. He felt that typical indignant rage when anyone so much as dared suggest he'd been so weak to have fallen prey to the wrath of someone stronger than him. In the end, he betrayed a reluctant nod.

Tarble visibly struggled to deal with that, but Vegeta didn't understand the relevance of the topic and so said, "It made me stronger." As if that was justification for what he'd suffered.

"It made you crazy."

The older Saiyan offered a half-shrug. That was certainly true, too.

"How are you now?"

"Coping."

"Just . . . coping?"

Vegeta really didn't like the direction this conversation was heading and his patience dropped a notch. "What do you want me to say? That I've made peace with the hell that was over twenty years of my life? I haven't. Let's leave it at that. Now change the fucking topic."

Tarble winced from the harsh tone, but couldn't let it go just yet. "Didn't Nappa protect you? Shiitake was my bodyguard and he was excellent at it. Nappa was supposed to-"

"Nappa was a weak, useless old fool. He wasn't strong enough against Frieza or his lieutenants." He spared the smaller man a solemn glare as he said, "Eventually, I killed him. He put up even less of a fight than your guardian did. It was absolutely pathetic. I should have done it sooner."

"You didn't have anybody to help you?"

"Not until I came _here_ the second time."

"I-I'd like to hear the tale," the small man said. "If you'll tell it to me."

Vegeta considered him for a moment and then nodded at his surroundings. "You're looking at the results of my first visit to Earth. I came here looking for power and when things didn't go my way, I tried to destroy this world. I met my first defeat in battle," he gestured at the indentation in the ground, "right here."

"Who-"

"The idiot in the orange clown costume I was arguing with at that banquet. Him, his son, and his friends. They took away my dignity, my pride, even my _tail_," Vegeta said resentfully. "I escaped and made it to one of Frieza's worlds for medical care. After that, I went to a planet called Namek where I met up with this sorry-ass band of heroes again. Frieza was also there, so was the Ginyu Force. I became reluctant allies with the Earthlings to try and save my own ass. It didn't work. Frieza killed me."

"Word among the forces is that _you_ killed Frieza-"

"No. Kakarrot ascended to the state of the Legendary first and left him for dead when the world blew up."

"Kakarrot?"

Vegeta mouth twisted as he sounded out, ". . . _Goku_. His Earth name. I prefer to call him by his Saiyan name. Anyway, he screwed things up and King Cold found Frieza drifting in space, still clinging to life, and placed him in a cyborg chassis. They both came to Earth looking for revenge and were killed."

When the man lapsed into silence, Tarble ventured, "You did that?"

"No. It's . . . too complicated to get into." Vegeta didn't want to bring Mirai Trunks into the discussion and have them break off into the tangent of time travel and their alternate dimensions. He especially didn't want to talk about Frieza's clone*, not with that particular topic as personal as it was right now. "Cooler was killed later and that brought an end to the Planet Trade Organization for good."

_And plunged what remained of the Empire into civil war,_ Tarble thought but didn't say out loud. All things considering, it was still a better alternative than what had been going on before. "If you died on Namek, how did you get _here_?"

"This world deals heavily with the arcane. I was 'wished' back," Vegeta grumbled.

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I. Not entirely. There are things called Dragonballs on this planet. Once a year they can grant any wish, including bringing people back from the dead. I appeared here along with the Earth heroes who had been on Namek. Bulma invited me to stay at Capsule Corp. with the rest of the Namekian refugees. I've been there ever since, more or less."

"That's wonderful!" Tarble broke out into a relieved smile. "You found your true soul mate and lived happily ever after like inseparable lovers-"

"Are you trying to make me vomit?" Vegeta said roughly, crossing his arms. "Work out the math, you bonehead. I've been here for twelve years. Trunks is ten. Bulma and I have been married for eight."

"Oh," the small Saiyan muttered. "So it was a . . . troubled courtship?" he asked diplomatically.

"I'm not willing to talk about that. It's personal."

Tarble was sensing the return of tension back in his older brother's voice and posture. He tried to pick his next words cautiously. "But Bulma _was_ the reason you stayed here?"

The answer surprised him. "No, not at first. It was her mother." At the perplexed expression he got, Vegeta elaborated further, "Surely you must have noticed how incredible the food is here."

Tarble's mouth exploded with saliva at the mere reminder of all that delicious fare that greeted them at breakfast, lunch and supper. It was enough to drive him mad. "Unbelievable," he agreed.

"Bulma's mother was an even better cook than the chef we now have on staff. The woman was a blond in all sense of the word, but she had an entire repository of culinary delights committed to memory, and she enjoyed cooking _everything_ just for me." At this, the Prince betrayed a vague smile, the corner of his lips turning upward before he registered his surroundings and became somber again. "I was a pretty scrawny thing when I ended up on this dirtball, but after eating her meals I soon began thriving. It was hard for me to settle down after living in space for so long but she made it easier. And then Bulma got knocked up with Trunks-" he broke off and stared off at the barren countryside for awhile, and let out a reluctant sigh. "The roles of father and husband are . . . complicated affairs," he admitted.

"It isn't as if we had any examples to follow," Tarble agreed. "Shiitake was my friend and father figure but it still wasn't the same, and you . . . "

"Frieza's objective was to mold me in his image. He did a pretty good job, didn't he?"

"You overcame his conditioning, Vegeta."

"Did I?" He appeared unconvinced. "Sometimes I think about what would happen if I returned to space. I'd pick up the pieces of shattered systems and unite them under an empire of my making. With my power it would be child's play to make them all cow into submission. My blood and bones scream to rule, to conquer . . . but here I stay on this small, insignificant world living a life of mediocrity."

The matter-of-fact words sent a shiver down the small man's spine. "But you remain here because you're happy."

"I stay here out of duty to my family," Vegeta corrected.

Tarble frowned in confusion. "Don't you love them?"

"What I feel for Bulma and Trunks is none of your concern," Vegeta responded tersely. He had never been comfortable discussing his emotions with anyone at the best of times, certainly not now with this prying imposter. "But I can tell you that ten years of respect and commitment isn't enough to completely erase thirty years of selfish obsession. I relapsed two years ago and set forces into motion that destroyed this planet."

Tarble recalled his conversation with Trunks the first time they had settled down to breakfast. The boy had told a completely different story involving a completely different antagonist called Majin Buu. There was no mention of his father's involvement. "Bulma mentioned that you had died a second time."

"I committed suicide," Vegeta said without emotion. "I used up every single ounce of ki I possessed in a blast I thought would destroy Buu. It didn't work. I was too weak. In power and . . . in mind."

Tarble regarded him sadly. "You are very hard on yourself, brother."

"I wonder why?" The Prince snorted, scowling at him. "I just have to look at you and be reminded of my constant string of failures."

"I don't understand," the smaller Saiyan admitted.

"You don't get it, do you?" Vegeta said impatiently. "You're like that because your samples were taken from me."

Tarble continued to look at him in confusion. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, for- _Look at me!"_ Vegeta shouted, extending his arms. "I'm supposed to be almost seven feet tall! Some genius fucked up my genes and as a result, I'm like this. I'm short. And you- Shit, you're a goddamn dwarf!"

"And that's supposed to be _your_ fault?" Tarble asked in confusion.

"Why not? Everything else is," Vegeta muttered under his breath. "My father didn't think I'd survive Frieza's 'training' and rushed to create you. Whatever defect that exists in my code obviously carried over to you, or you wouldn't be the size that you are."

"I'm happy the way I am. Really."

The Prince cast him a foul glare. "I don't give a shit how you feel, idiot. The fact remains that you were created to be my replacement. Father wouldn't have gone through all that trouble if there hadn't been something seriously wrong with me. I don't know if it was because I was small, or not intelligent enough, or-or _what_ it was."

Tarble's eyes softened as he began to get a grasp what it must have been like for his older brother to deal with being abandoned by the man he had obviously worshipped. "I sincerely doubt it was anything like that."

Vegeta shook his head. "No, I must have done something. Said something. He handed me over to Frieza and forgot about me, like I didn't matter. He sent you away to protect you. He was concerned about your welfare. Why would he have discarded me like a piece of trash if there wasn't a good reason for it?"

"That's what you think," Tarble realized in a stunned voice. "That's what you've thought for all these years . . ."

"What?"

"Vegeta, hasn't it ever occurred to you that maybe your-our father was . . ." he hesitated for a moment, weighing his words carefully before saying, "Maybe he was just a jerk?"

The look on Vegeta's face would have been comical at any other moment.

"I think he was greedy," Tarble continued. "He'd managed to create a powerful son and I think he wanted to see how far he could push the envelope by creating another. It was never about anything you ever did or said-"

"_You never even knew him!"_ Vegeta thundered. "He was my father, not yours! _Mine!_"

"He was a King who favored his empire above everything else. You could have been born with the power level you have right now and it still wouldn't have been enough for him. That's just the way rulers are. Nothing is _ever_ good enough." Tarble took a deep breath and said softly, "You didn't do anything wrong."

Vegeta backed off a little, scowling. It was clear he had never heard those words directed at him before and could barely grasp their meaning, let alone accept the concept. It was at that moment Tarble realized just what Gure's elders had tried to explain to him all those years ago; Vegeta was damaged in both body and soul. He hadn't recovered from the trauma he'd endured in Frieza's empire. He still carried it with him every hour of every day like a suit of armor he couldn't remove.

"You were a good son," Tarble said. "It was your father who failed you, not the other way around. You never did anything wrong."

Beginning to shake, Vegeta cast a look around, his eyes falling on everything, anything, but the person in front of him. He was tired, hungry, and overwhelmed by emotional overload. He could feel that dark part of his soul stirring in response to his growing doubt. It existed in the center of a microscopic black hole where the imprint of an "M" still lingered and squirmed. _Let me protect you from these feelings,_ it whispered across his churning mind. _Kill him and you'll no longer be reminded of your father's betrayal._

Vegeta looked up at long last. The severity blazing from his coal-black eyes was enough to cause Tarble to back away a couple of steps. "Our period of civility is now over," the Prince said flatly in English and blasted off into the sky in a corona of blue fire without another word.

Tarble watched after him but did not give chase. He knew he wouldn't have any hope in catching him and, besides, the majority of his questions and concerns had been answered in their terse exchange. Vegeta _was_ a completely different person than the frenzied teenager he had been on Gure's world, but the cost of that change had exacted a desperate toll from both his heart and mind. Tarble wanted to help but he was hampered by what he truly was: A flawed copy of an immensely powerful being. He had little else in common with Vegeta aside from their strained origins and that wasn't enough to unite them.

"I'm sorry, brother," he whispered. "I wish there was something I could do to help you."

He was at a loss. Thankfully, he hadn't come to Earth alone.

* * *

Gure was on a lawn chair drowsing in the shade of the headquarter's building waiting for her mate's return when she snapped fully awake with a soft cry. She couldn't register energy levels like the fighters on this planet; she was attuned to more subtle sensations. A compact sphere of violent emotions was swiftly approaching the Capital and she realized with a shock that they were originating from Vegeta.

Her mind immediately leapt elsewhere, crossing the vast distance in the blink of an eye. -_Tarble?_ she sent in fear.

_-I'm alright, beloved,_ came the quick response and she released a pent up sigh of relief. _-He was completely rational. It went better than I could have hoped._

_-If that's the case, why is he so upset?_

Tarble opened his mind to her completely, letting her flip through the dialogue between brothers as if reading a book. It took her about four seconds before she moaned, _-Oh, that's terrible . . ._

_-Give him his space, love. I'll be there as soon as I can. It, uh, might take me awhile._ There were overtones of embarrassment and fatigue clouding his thoughts. He wasn't used to overtaxing his power of flight.

_-Enjoy your jog, sweetheart_, she teased and ended their conversation. Vegeta was almost back home and Gure was now starting to get a run of his whirling thoughts: _-never even knew him. How dare he say such things! He was my King! He was my-my- Why did father abandon me like that? Why did he-_

"So troubled," Gure mused as she considered her course of action. "It ends now."

She stepped away from the building and fearlessly approached the Saiyan as he touched down on the lawn, his energy singed the grass before he dropped his aura. He swung his head around and glared at her, "Get lost," he snarled, brandishing one tight fist in her direction.

"No one is more lost than you," Gure said directly and reached up to grab his other hand.

With a bitter curse, Vegeta wrenched himself away. A warm wind swept across his vision, bringing a dusting of sharp sand and he brought an arm up to wipe his stinging eyes. When his vision cleared, there was no sign of the petite alien and the landscape had changed to a bleak stone plateau where a yellow sun blazed hotly overhead and the other, a deep bloated red, neared the horizon. He was standing in a bowl of earth, carved directly out of dark brown stone by thousands of fingers over the span of a thousand years. In the jagged cliff face that loomed over the rough circle, ledges had been carved into the rock; each layer more receded than the one below it, serving as bleachers where thousands of figures sat in expectant silence, watching him.

Saiyans. He was on Planet Vegeta. In the distance lay the city of Bane where the towers of the palace jutted up above buildings made of jet black stone. Huge flags were hung from the ramparts where the sigil of the royal family- of _his_ royal family- had been painted in blood that had since dried to an auburn crust. They were meant to be seen at the place where he was now standing; The Desert of Ascension. It was the arena where the Prince challenged his King for the throne while all Elites watched on, witnesses to the change in sovereignty in a rite of blood and battle that dated all the way back to Vegeta the First.

If _he_ was here, then that meant-

"Ready to challenge me, boy?" came a rough voice directly behind him.

Whirling, Vegeta already knew who was standing there even before he saw the man. King Vegeta, his father. The huge Saiyan was standing with his arms crossed imperiously as he looked down his sharp nose at his small challenger. The pendant that displayed his status gleamed above the chest plate of pure white armor while his cape billowed out behind him and moved with the subtle gusts of wind like a conscious thing.

"You're not real," Vegeta dismissed and forced himself to look away, searching for Tarble's mate in the sea of faces that were seated beyond the combat ring's edge. If he spotted that bulbous freak he had every intention of making his younger brother a widower-

A tiny disk of energy sliced along his right cheek, barely missing his eye, and he turned back in surprise. His father was standing there with a smirk on his face, carelessly tossing a ball of energy back and forth between his hands. "And you're not paying attention."

Vegeta gingerly touched his face and his fingers come away bloody. –_It's all in my mind_, he thought. –_Of course I can get hurt. I can bleed. I can die. It's all still just a dream_. "I could finish you with one blow," he growled.

"Yes, you probably could, but that would leave all your questions unanswered, now wouldn't it?"

"Questions . . ." Vegeta mused. Yes, he certainly had a lot of _those_. He decided to play along with this vision and ask the question that had plagued him for the majority of his adult life: "Why did you hand me over to Frieza?"

There was an irritated sigh followed by: "The tyrant forced my hand, Vegeta. There was no other choice."

"No choice? Bullshit! You could have refused!"

"And risk angering a member of the Cold family? No, boy. Frieza had his sights on you and there was no sense risking a bloodbath I knew I had no hope to win. It was best to placate him and bide my time."

"You gave me away like some toy in a fair! And in my place you created a clone!"

"You ceased being a viable heir the instant you stepped onboard Frieza's warship. I had to recoup my losses. Can you blame me? I knew that our people were living on borrowed time before Frieza finally tired of us altogether. I didn't expect you to survive the life he would make for you."

"_You gave up on me!"_ Vegeta screamed.

King Vegeta regarded the younger Prince solemnly. "I am the ruler of an ancient people. Do you think one life matters to a King, even if that one life is his own son? Do you forget what we are? We're warriors of the moon, united by our own self-interests, dependent on no one and nothing. It took five tries before I settled on you, Vegeta. Your siblings were all killed because they were weak specimens. That fate would have been yours had you still been in the palace when Tarble emerged from his gestation chamber. That is the way of things," he said, adding an indifferent shrug.

"I was your son," Vegeta said in a faltering voice.

"You were a link in chain that lay unbroken since the First. Nothing more, nothing less. Links crack and break, but they can always be replaced. That was Tarble's purpose."

" . . . To replace me."

"Yes. How fortunate you were to be in Frieza's custody-"

"_Fortunate?"_ Vegeta's eyes blazed. "Do you know what he did to me? Do you even care?"

The King arched an eyebrow. "No, I don't," he said bluntly. "You're alive, aren't you? If you had stayed with me, I would have put you down myself."

"And the joke would have been on you," Vegeta sneered. "Tarble's manufactured cells can't hold energy for very long, it leaks out of him like water through a sieve. You failed your objective."

The King glowered at him. "I do not make mistakes."

"You made a huge one when you gave me away."

"All right then, boy, what would _your_ course of action have been?" the King snapped in frustration. "Imagine yourself responsible for millions of lives. Would you have risked them all for the well-being of one stunted whelp?"

"The question is moot. I wouldn't have been stupid enough to get into an alliance with someone like Frieza in the first place," Vegeta said coldly, and was met by disapproving silence. "You praised our race's assets but conveniently left out our faults. We're arrogant. We're so blinded by own sense of self-importance that it eclipses rational thought. You boxed yourself into a corner by forming an alliance with Frieza. You doomed our people with your selfish ambitions." He took a deep breath and pointed a finger at the other man; a man he had once believed existed larger-than-life and infallible. The man he had once revered above anyone else. "You killed us, father. Not Frieza. _You._"

There was a shocked murmur from the gathered Elites and someone shouted, "Heresy!" It was taken up into a desperate chant that rolled across the barren land like thunder. Vegeta ignored them, focused on the man before him who was trembling with barely contained rage.

"You have no right to speak to me in such a manner," the King finally spat.

"I have all the right. I am Vegeta, the Prince of all Saiyans. My name and title were never taken from me as you intended."

"You would have done the exact same thing if you had been in my place."

"Eagerly hand my son over to a pedophile? Expend resources to protect a powerless clone? Compromise my pride? I'd sooner die." He corrected himself, "I _have_ died. Twice. Once as a selfish wretch, the other as a free spirit for my family. I was you for a long time but I've become a different person." Vegeta thought about it for a moment and blinked in surprise when he realized the truth of it all: ". . . A _better_ person."

"Sentiment," King Vegeta sneered with open contempt. "The true heir to my throne has to be free of such paltry emotions-"

"Why? Our race was the most despised in all the cosmos because of our violence and cruelty. Perhaps if we'd shown some restraint-"

"_Heresy!"_ the gathered Elites thundered in rage.

"I will hear no more of this nonsense!" the King declared, getting down into a fighting stance in preparation for combat. "I would have thought your time with Frieza would have toughened you, boy. What I see before me now is a weak, emotional failure."

". . . Weak?" Vegeta's mouth twitched. "_You're_ calling _me_ weak? _I'll show you weak!"_ he shouted in rage and his blue aura exploded around his form and quickly brightened to the yellow extreme of the spectrum. His eyes became blazing jade jewels and his hair turned into flaxen spikes. The fabric of his shirt burst down his back and split against his bulging biceps as he powered up even higher, screaming in rage and hate and, most of all, screaming at the unfairness of it all. For what he had gone through for twenty-five unbearable years. He glowed like a miniature supernova until the energy condensed tightly around his body. Tendrils of bluish lightening snapped at the air and the ground beneath his feet shuddered.

The gathered Elites ceased their cries of disapproval and marveled at the transformation their Prince had performed. Other races would have run away in terror but these beings quickly exited the bleachers and gathered around the perimeter of the combat ring for a closer look. The expression on all their faces was best described as reverent envy. They were helplessly drawn to displays of power; it was the only addiction the race possessed and they couldn't have left even they'd wanted to.

The words, "The Legendary" and "New King" and "Rightful heir" swept among the Elites and when Vegeta marginally turned his head in their direction, they all went down to one knee as a unified group, declaring their fidelity and acceptance to the new successor.

"Stop that!" King Vegeta snapped. "We haven't even battled yet!" No one stirred.

"They know a loser when they see it," Vegeta said, but he derived no pleasure in the words. It bothered him to see his father still grasping to his ignorance despite what lay before his eyes. Oh, the arrogance. The righteous denial. Less than a decade ago, that had been him when he had witnessed Gohan's defeat of Cell. Yes, he knew very well how his father must be feeling to witness someone stronger than him. To recognize his mortality for the very first time and face his failures. "Let us end it."

"I'll show you my true might, boy," the King seethed, powering up until his aura became a bloody shroud around his powerful body. "I'll show you conflict. _I'll show you-!"_ He took one step towards Vegeta with his hand raised to throw a blast at his upstart son. He didn't take another.

Invisible to the naked eye, even to those trained to watch empowered skirmishes, Vegeta swept past his father and cut him in two at the mid-section with a hand that was glowing white hot with ki. The smell of charred flesh immediately filled the air as the King's upper body fell face-first to the ground. The legs and waist toppled backwards, spilling gouts of blood and severed intestines all over the dark earth on impact. From the crowd of Elites there was only stunned silence.

Prodding the chest armor with the toe of his shoe, Vegeta flipped the body over and saw without surprise that the King was still clinging to life, his breath coming in and out as bloody gurgles. His eyes hadn't changed, they still radiated challenge and spite.

"You failed me, father," Vegeta said softly. All he felt for the dying man at his feet was disappointment. Nothing more. "You had no right to abandon me. I never did anything wrong."

"_Would . . . do it all . . . again,"_ the dying King choked out, defiant to the end. ". . . _no regrets_ . . ."

"And that's why you lost," Vegeta said without emotion and stamped down on the King's neck, breaking it. The torso made one feeble convulsion and went still. The gathered Saiyans remained silent, watching, waiting for the rite to be complete.

Bending down, the victorious Prince took the pendant that symbolized the leadership of his people and pulled it free. All he had to do was put it over his own head and that would close the circle; the transition from Prince to King would be complete and he would be the next ruler of his people.

Dropping his empowered state, Vegeta considered the pendant closely, seeing the marks of great age etched into the diamond-hard metal. This had been worn by his father and grand-father and through a succession of Vegetas since time immemorial. Caressing the runes with an errant finger, he considered the burdens that were associated with this small trinket; the consideration of an empire over family, deadly alliances, the endless pursuit of power. Twenty-nine years ago, in a perfect timeline free of Frieza and parental treachery, he would have coveted this symbol of monarchy. He would have placed it around his neck without hesitation and faced his people as the new King and he would have continued the mindless cycle of violence and greed that his father had inherited from his own father. Nothing would have changed.

Things were different now. _He_ was different. Staring down at the silver-colored pendant one last time, he threw it away beyond the combat area and out into the desert. There was a shocked cry among the Elites and the majority of them scrambled after the discarded bauble. Whether it was in a crazed attempt to assume authority or to simply retrieve it, Vegeta didn't know. Or care. "We're done here," he said, not sure if he was speaking to his dead father or to another that was paying keen attention to events.

It turned out to be the latter as the surroundings immediately blurred and Vegeta had to close his eyes as vertigo assaulted his senses. When he dared to open them again, he found he was back on the Capsule Corp. lawn. Gure was standing a few feet away, regarding him warily just in case he might attack.

The Saiyan only scowled at her. "Nice trick."

"Is that what you think it was?" she inquired, staring first at his shirt and then at his face.

Vegeta realized that his clothes were still ripped as a result of his transformation and when he touched his cheek, he felt tacky blood clotting the wound his father had given him. ". . . It was real?"

"Yes."

"How is that possible?"

"Ah, how to explain . . . " she paused, absently tapping her lower lip as she stared up at the brilliantly blue sky. She was silent for perhaps a good three minutes before she shrugged and smiled up at him. "My apologies. I can't."

"You can't," he echoed numbly.

"Accept it as the gift it was intended, Vegeta. Do you feel better now?"

He was shocked to realize that he actually did. The conversation with his father (real or not) had managed to put some much needed closure on issues that had plagued him for decades. The actual battle, for the two seconds it took, had been equally cathartic. "Yes, I do." He looked the tiny creature with new respect. "Thank you, Gure," he said sincerely.

The tiny alien blushed and made a curtsey. "The pleasure was mine. We are kinfolk."

He blinked at her. "We are?"

"You are the brother to my husband, aren't you?" she peered up at him shrewdly, as if daring him to debate the issue.

It suddenly dawned on Vegeta that he had done more talking today than ever in his entire life and that he was physically and emotionally exhausted. He decided that he was entitled to some much-needed peace and quiet. "Fine, whatever," he said in surrender and flew up to the second story balcony to his bedroom.

Gure beamed happily and did a little dance on the lawn, singing in the keening, melodious way of her people until she grew bored. She returned to her place on the lounge and waited for her beloved to return, humming a tune of utter contentment.

Tarble made it home two hours later and the family gathered in the dining room for a late supper. Bulma went upstairs to Trunks' room and found the boy sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes at half-mast and his hair mussed. He had smelled the food. It had roused him from his exhausted slumber and now he appeared to be gathering his wits for the journey downstairs.

"Hungry?" Bulma remarked from the doorway.

"Uhm hm," he muttered.

When he didn't move, she ventured, "Do you want me to carry you?"

His eyes snapped open. "Aw, mom! I'm not a little kid!" he protested and stomped past her, arms pumping and head held high in aloof poise.

Rolling her eyes, Bulma moved onto her room and opened the door a crack to peer in. The curtains were drawn across the patio doors and the windows had the shades drawn. In the gloom, she could see that Vegeta was stretched out on the bed, deep asleep. She left as silently as she came, not wanting to disturb him.

Everyone was seated at the table and looked up expectantly when Bulma appeared and sat at her place. "Let's dig in," she said, grabbing a roll and passing the plate along to Trunks, who was seated on her left.

"Dad's not coming?" the boy asked curiously, almost adding '_Again?_'.

"Oh honey, he's exhausted. Let him sleep-"

"Warriors fatigue," muttered a voice at the door and Vegeta stepped through and sat down in his chair at the head of the table. "They do not get exhausted." His hair was a riotous mess and his clothes were rumpled but he looked surprisingly alert.

Bulma's eyes immediately fell on the bandage on his right cheek. "What happened to your face?"

Vegeta cast a veiled glance at Gure. "I tripped over the cat." He said shortly and began helping himself to several baked potatoes.

_What cat? We don't even have a cat!_ she thought. Recognizing a bald-faced lie when she heard it, Bulma blew a puff of irritated breath up at her bangs but kept her mouth shut. He was here in the same room as his brother and sister-in-law and that, alone, was significant. She didn't want to ruin the moment.

Once the plates were passed around, and everyone's dishes filled to capacity (chiefly the Saiyans, pure blood and half), Tarble suddenly jumped to his feet, holding up his glass of water. "I'd like to propose a toast."

_Ah shit,_ Bulma thought, her fork freezing en route to her mouth. She just _knew_ that things had been going a little too smoothly.

Tarble, his youthful face beaming in a warm smile of triumph, looked to his wife, to Trunks, to Bulma, and finally to Vegeta, where his brown eyes lingered. "To family," he declared.

Gure and Trunks immediately hoisted their glasses. Bulma glanced at her silent husband sitting stock-still across the table from her, and slowly brought up her glass of wine. "Vegeta?" she prompted. There was a hard edge to her voice.

Ignoring her, Vegeta cast an inscrutable look towards the small Saiyan and slid back his seat, getting slowly to his feet.

Everyone held their breath.

* * *

Next Chapter: The brothers resume their discussion.

* Refers to events detailed in my fanfic: "Two Sides to a Story"


	5. Badman and Goodboy

Everyone looked at Vegeta expectantly and he glowered back at them, hands clasped into tight fists of anger. "To family", Tarble had said, his glass still held up in a gesture of good-will. _Presumptuous little shit._ Yes, they had talked; Yes, Vegeta felt a little more at ease in the man's presence. But the question: _Was he family?_ still plagued him. Did a bastard clone he had met only once thirty years ago even count as family? Or even his alien wife, for that matter? Four pairs of eyes stared at him in entreaty and he looked away at the far wall, poised to leave.

"Dad?" Trunks broke the stalemate. Vegeta found he could not bear to see the look of disappointment on his son, and the boy deserved to know his roots, no matter how twisted or contrived they might be. With a grumble, the prince grasped his glass of water and raised it (several cracks appeared under his rigid fingers but he was able to rein in his strength just in time before it shattered), nodding to Tarble but adding nothing more. Everyone knocked back their drinks and the meal resumed without further incident (to Bulma's overwhelming relief).

When the table was cleared, Trunks retired to the living room with Tarble and Gure, eager to ask questions of his new-found relatives. Vegeta remained in the dining room, elbows braced on the table and peering moodily down at his reflection. Bulma pulled a chair up beside him, kissed his cheek and drew back smiling. "That was a wonderful thing you did."

"I didn't do or say anything."

"You stayed. That was more than enough."

He grunted and added a vague shrug.

"Did you and Tarble have a good talk?" she inquired.

"It was . . . interesting. He brought up some points I hadn't considered."

"Like what?"

_Like my father being a complete dick_, Vegeta thought, but didn't say so out loud. Not yet. It was still too fresh. "Perhaps I assume too much responsibility for things beyond my control."

"Huh. You think? I've been saying that for years!"

"Sometimes it takes an impartial opinion to drive it home," he admitted, favoring her with a weary smirk.

She was relieved to see a glimpse of his sardonic side. "Insightful little guy," she teased lightly. "Obviously, he's the rational one of the family."

Bulma's reference to Tarble's height brought back a concern Vegeta had been considering ever since he had chastised his son that afternoon. "Mirai Trunks . . . he was taller than I was, correct?"

"That's right. Before he left, he was about five feet ten inches, and still growing I think. Why?" she peered at him curiously and he dropped his eyes to the dining table again.

"Our Trunks isn't growing."

"Ah, he'll hit a growth spurt soon enough. He's only ten," she dismissed with a wave.

"What if he doesn't, Bulma?" He looked at her gravely. "What if he stays at that height?"

"Like Tarble, you mean?"

_Or like me._ "Yes."

"I'm not worried about it and neither should you. I swear, I've never met a man who goes to such lengths to create problems out of nothing!" It always seemed that when he was relieved of some emotional burden, he went out of his way to find another. It drove her crazy sometimes.

"But-"

"No buts. I think you should go back to bed, Vegeta. You're a wreck." She tugged on his sleeve but he refused to budge, scowling at her disapprovingly.

"Avoiding the issue won't make it go away," he snapped.

She sighed. "There is no issue. Not yet. Probably not ever. Stop obsessing over things you have no control over. Isn't that what you just said your brother pointed out to you before?"

"Now it's two against one. Great. That's all I need."

"We're not ganging up on you, so curb the paranoia." There was a hard edge to her voice that he recognized as a sign her patience was waning. They were too closely matched in temperament and would be arguing soon if they kept at this pace. He decided he had faced enough confrontations today and abruptly stood up and turned towards the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To bed. I'm a wreck," he said in surrender and left.

In the living room, Tarble craned his head up and saw his older brother slowly scale the stairs. He had hoped that the man would have joined them after the meal. It would have been a pleasant experience for them all to relax together for the evening. He began to rise to follow but Gure quickly grabbed his hand.

- _Give him some time_, she cautioned, randomly clicking buttons on the remote as she navigated the various digital channels. Television simply fascinated her. – _He's had to absorb a lot of information today._

_- Any of that have to do with you?_

_- Hmm, maybe_, her playful smile broadened, creating dimples on either side of her round face.

_- Let me put it this way. Were you able to help him any?_

_- I believe so. Time will tell._

Tarble favored her with a smile of love and gratitude and pulled her close, nuzzling her cheek until she giggled with delight.

"Aw, not you, too!" Trunks objected, grimacing. "What? Does it run in the family or something?"

The couple looked at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?" Tarble asked.

"You know, the mushy stuff," the boy said, making a curious clapping gesture with his hands that neither aliens could quite figure out. "My folks are always going at it. It's really embarrassing."

"_Trunks!"_ Bulma shrieked, her cheeks flushing bright red. "That's private!"

The boy hadn't realized that his mother had joined them and his face mirrored hers when she sat down. "Whoops. Sorry, mom." Under his breath, he added, _". . . but it's all true."_

"Yes Trunks, I love Gure very much," Tarble said, putting an arm around his wife's small shoulders. "Would you like to hear how we met?"

"No," Trunks immediately said, followed by his mother's enthusiastic: "Yes!"

As Tarble began to regale them of their initial meeting, Trunks tried to slide off of the sofa and leave. He really had no interest in this particular topic but Bulma grabbed his sleeve and hauled him back up, putting an arm around him for good measure. Trapped, the boy had no choice but to relent and listen to the boring details of his uncle and aunt's courtship (a hell for any ten year-old adolescent to endure). To make matters worse, Bulma hauled out "The Book", started by her mother over ten years ago, which displayed newspaper clippings and photos of her and Vegeta (and, later, Trunks). Anytime that scrapbook got pulled from the bookcase, the Saiyan did a swift exit and Trunks pretty much had the dialogue all committed to memory by now.

"This was mine and Vegeta's first picture together in a public setting. It was during our honeymoon at a museum opening in London," Bulma gushed (in the background, Trunk was mimicking her word-for-word).

Tarble leaned in to look closer. "What's this little article about you getting into a fight-"

"Oh, that's nothing!" she said, quickly turning the page. "Here we were spotted at a nudist colony-"

That was it for Trunks. This time he managed a successful retreat and went upstairs, pausing at his parent's room. The door was half-open and he glanced in and saw that the bed was empty and the doors to the patio were open. He gingerly walked in, crossing the large room, and craned his head to look outside. Vegeta was perched on the railing, his back braced against the wall. Noticing his son's appearance, he asked, "What'd she do? Haul out The Book?"

It was really amazing how perceptive his father could be. "Yeah."

"I swear I'm going to burn that damn thing."

He made the exact same threat every time it made its appearance. Trunks relaxed a little and walked over to the railing, easily hoisting himself up and sitting on it so he was facing his father.

"What's on your mind?" Vegeta asked point-blank.

The boy swallowed and then blurted out, "About what happened this afternoon . . . I know you were angry that I was hearing your thoughts-"

"I wasn't angry at you," Vegeta said honestly. "I should have had more control. It sometimes catches me off guard how incredibly strong you are."

The boy was caught off guard by the rare flattery. "Really? Thanks, dad."

He offered an acknowledging nod back. "I wish I'd had your strength and power when I was your age. It would have made things," he paused, searching for the right word and could only come up with, "better."

"Aw c'mon, you're stronger than I am."

"Now I am, yes, but it happened too late."

"Too late? For what?"

_Vengeance, redemption, absolution_, Vegeta thought morosely. "I guess it doesn't matter. It's all in the past."

Trunks nodded, pretending to understand what his father was talking about. Sometimes he spoke in riddles or referred to things that were over the boy's head. Grasping the essentials, Trunks knew what had started this downward spiral and commented, "Uncle Tarble isn't quite what I expected."

"Really."

"No. He's . . . well, he's kind of a pussy."

Vegeta had been expecting just about anything but _that_. He gaped at the boy for a few seconds and then threw his head back and laughed out loud. Not for the first time today, Trunks looked at him uneasily wondering if he was losing his mind (again). "Uh, you okay, dad?"

"Pussy . . ." Vegeta was snickering, "That's absolutely perfect!" he was shaking his head and chuckling again.

"Well, he _is_," the boy insisted and that just made the man laugh harder.

When the humor passed and Vegeta managed to compose himself, he remarked, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Some humans embrace the concept of Yin and Yang. Your mother told this to me when we first . . . met. It's a measure of balances: Light and darkness. Right and wrong. Good and evil. You get my meaning?"

". . . I think so."

"Perhaps that is Tarble's place among things. The light to my darkness."

"You're not an evil person," Trunks said, frowning.

"I used to be."

"Yeah, I know." Bulma had told Trunks of his father's dark past two years ago and it was something the boy had never forgotten. "But you're not any more."

The humor had gone completely out of Vegeta's face and now he looked at his son seriously, "You don't think so?"

There was a doubting note to his voice that Trunks decided he didn't like _at all_. "No, I don't," he said firmly. "And anyway, I'd sooner take my badass father over my pussy uncle any day of the week!"

It was the right thing to say. Vegeta's heart lurched in his chest with pride as well as with that newly acquired thing he was still exploring; Love. "Thank you, son," he said sincerely.

"Aw, don't mention it," Trunks said, his own chest puffed out as he happily strutted off the patio, passing his father a care-free wave as he left. "'Night, dad."

Vegeta stared after him for a few minutes, simply marveling, and eventually turned to look at the city again. A slight smile crossed his weary features and remained there for a long time.

* * *

It was barely ten o'clock by the time Bulma decided it was time for bed, which was fairly early for her on any other day. On this particular evening she had expected to be up at all hours of the night. After all, how often did she entertain new-found relatives in her living room? _And from outer space, no less?_ One, the estranged brother of her husband; a pure-blooded Saiyan royal who had lived on his own on an alien world. The other, an exotic sister-in-law of mysterious origins and unknown background. For the Earth woman who had experienced more than her fair share of harrowing escapades, she had expected to be held rapt by similar tales of adventure. Instead, she heard about weekly quilting bees, pottery workshops, and listened to tracts of strange poetry. She soon discovered that Tarble and Gure weren't the Earth equivalent of risk-takers; they had more in common with the Amish.

Trying to hide her disappointment, Bulma listened intently. Among a great deal of faults, it seemed that Vegeta's younger brother wasn't particularly skilled in menial tasks either. Gure said, with just a trace of exasperation in her high pitched voice (which also grated on Bulma's nerves), that the roof to their home leaked where her husband had tried to patch it, and the poorly constructed fireplace had a constant draft. The only thing worthy of any bragging rights was Tarble's garden, which was quite the envy of the village.

"The secret is the fertilizer," Tarble explained to Bulma, who – by now- was trying to figure out a plausible excuse for cutting this night short and slipping off to bed. Of the entire family, it was her mother who had the green thumb. Bulma never had any interest in the subject and had never managed to own a plant that lived longer than a month. "Rotten fish heads work the best."

"You don't say," she said, maintaining her polite smile with difficulty.

"Yep! You bury them near the root ball before they flower. I tried a lot of combinations-"

On and on and _on_ it went before Gure yawned and Bulma pounced in on the moment and remarked that it had been a very long day and she was looking forward to getting to know them some more tomorrow. Tarble and Gure agreed, still suffering from their prolonged jaunt through space and a poor night's sleep the night before. Bulma watched them scurry off to bed, making a mental note to get some appropriate clothes for the smaller man, who was still wearing his armor. Such vestiges of battle didn't suit his gentle nature and he deserved to wear something that better suited his even temperament. Bulma figured she knew exactly what would fit the bill.

When she went to the bedroom and opened the door, the heat hit her like a physical blow and wrenched an involuntary gasp from her lungs. Temperature control in the room was a constant tug-of-war issue between her and Vegeta. She slept best when the air conditioner was on full blast and Vegeta favored cranking up the heat (she noted that whenever the room was too cold, his nightmares tended to escalate). In the end, they managed to reach a resolution to the issue: Bulma kept her precious air conditioner, and his side of the bed was designed to heat up as much as he wanted. Tonight, it seemed, the bed hadn't been enough. Still, she didn't march over to the unit and turn it back on as she normally would have. Sometimes marriage was about compromises. If she had to sleep nude on top of the sheets tonight so that her husband could grab a few hours of restful sleep, she was willing to do that.

Vegeta had left on the light on the nightstand next to his bed and she could see his head burrowed into two pillows and his body a vague bundle beneath the sheets and comforter. _A comforter! _She couldn't believe it._ In this heat? _She went to the bathroom and performed her nightly rituals before returning to the room and undressing. Her body was already damp with perspiration by the time she laid down beside him. _No._ _This was no good. It was just too freakin hot!_

Rolling over, she grabbed his shoulder and shook it gently. "Vegeta? Honey? I'm going to have to-"

He suddenly exploded into motion, his back colliding with the headboard as he tried to propel himself out of the bed. His eyes were huge and unfocused before his surroundings finally clicked in. "You woke me up," he said in an accusing tone.

"Uh, yeah, I see that," she said, nonplussed. The heat issue was shelved for the moment. "Bad dream?"

He raised a shaky hand and ran it through his mussed hair and didn't answer her.

"Are you alright?"

More silence.

"Want to talk about it?"

After about two minutes of this, she got off the bed and walked across the room, muttering, "Enough! I can't breathe! It's like a damn sauna in here!" Vegeta watched her turn-off the thermostat and adjust the air conditioner to its highest setting without comment. He was still watching her when she returned to the bed, standing beside it with her arms crossed below her bare breasts, as if expecting a debate. When that didn't happen, she leaned towards him, asking, "What's wr-"

He suddenly grabbed her face and kissed her hard. It caught her completely by surprise. His hands restlessly ran through her hair as the kiss deepened, becoming a torrid exchange as their mouths pressed together hungrily, his tongue mingling with hers in eager passion.

"What's gotten into you?" she managed to ask when he finally drew back. She was a little breathless from the kiss. The heat issue was now completely forgotten.

He dropped one hand and cupped her left breast, his thumb lightly skimming across the nipple and it immediately peaked with interest. He drew lazy circles around it and muttered, "I need this. I need you," he said, licking the side of her neck and nipping at the tender skin, and her body broke out into excited gooseflesh. It seemed as if the temperature of the room had suddenly plummeted. One of her hands quested for his crotch but he moved beyond her reach, easing her onto her back and focusing his attention on her perfect breasts, suckling one, kneading the other. His free hand moved down to one thigh, skimming the ivory flesh of her hip, and ran along her stomach with feather-light touches.

Bulma was confused by his sudden emotional shift but she didn't put a stop to this affectionate advance. She was eccentric, not stupid. Her fingers curled restlessly in his thick mane and her legs immediately parted when she felt his tongue trace the dimple of her belly button and move slowly downwards. Closing her eyes, her head fell back into the pillow as she waited for the carnal delight to begin with earnest.

He always paused when he saw her pubic mound, the short blue hair shaved into a distinct "V" like a brand of ownership. Or invitation. Only for him. No one else but him. He lowered his face between her thighs, slipping his muscular arms beneath her knees and lifting her slender legs into a sensuous cradle. The musky scent of her pussy invaded his nostrils, a tart odor that made him open his mouth and flick his tongue into the juicy crevice that worked against his lips as if sharing a long kiss. Greedily, he plunged his mouth into the dripping furrow, his tongue driving up into the quivering sheath with avid thrusts and instinctive gyrations.

_"Oh!_ Bulma gasped, as Vegeta's tongue drove deeply into her softly clenching pussy. "Just like that. _Oh god!"_

Sucking greedily, his mouth filled with her vaginal exudation, and he swallowed, his throat tingling with the tasty fluids. He deserted the slippery vaginal entrance and concentrated on the swollen nub of her clitoris, catching the meaty bud between his teeth and flicking his tongue playfully across the sensitive tip. Bulma reacted by grinding her dripping pussy against his chin, mouth and nose. Her hands gripped the coverlet of the bed in frustrated lust as she whipped her head from side to side, moaning in exquisite pleasure.

He nuzzled hard against her sensitive nub, stabbing it with a rapid frenzy with his stiff tongue and making her squirm wildly for more, moving and twisting in erotic rapture, directing his lashing strokes unto her throbbing button, throwing open her trembling thighs to him.

"Agh! That's it!" she cried, grabbing fistfuls of his thick hair and keeping him between her trembling legs. "Right there! Don't stop!"

His lips enveloped her clitoris and his tongue slid over its nerve-filled surface and moved in regular circular motions. He finally sucked on it hard, driving the tip of his tongue back and forth as fast as possible across the hard little button.

"Ungghhh!"

Without warning she was coming, her hips grinding and pumping as the orgasmic explosions ripped through her steaming womanhood. Vegeta quickly released the retreating clitoris and opened his mouth wide, covering the entire opening of her spasming slit. He pulled the pliant lips between his teeth, shoving his fluttering tongue up into the convulsing channel, feeling it tighten about his oral member as he sucked the warm outpouring of her climax, swallowing as much as he could in an effort to claim all of the delicious liquid.

Bulma's body shuddered from head to toe and she tried vainly to pull her hips from his powerful grip. His fingers, clutching the cheeks of her quivering ass, were like bonds that kept her pussy glued to his slurping mouth.

"Wait! Vegeta! My _god!_ That's enough!"

Reluctantly, he released the savage siphoning of her carnal honey, his tongue withdrawing from the mushy orifice to broaden and lick upward through the trembling slit. He planted a noisy kiss on her rehooded clitoris as he released her and pulled himself up along side of her, smirking at her reaction.

Her eyes were closed, relishing the soft rosy afterglow from her well-used clit as the feeling settled warmingly over her entire body. When her breathing slowed, she reached for him again, eager to reciprocate, but he pulled his hips away and grabbed her hand. "No," he said, his eyes were gentle but direct.

"You're not-"

"It isn't about me," he said, pulling a disturbed tendril of hair out of her eyes. "Not tonight."

"I love you. You know that, right?"

He betrayed a vague smile. "I know. That's why I did it." His gaze lingered for a few seconds longer and then the mood was broken when he suddenly declared, "Shit! It's a cold as a crypt in here!" and burrowed back under the sheets and comforter.

"Ah, now _there's_ the prince I married," Bulma said, laughing. He had been acting so strangely all night that it was actually a relief to see the return of his more brusque nature. She settled under the sheet and pressed up against his back, wrapping an arm around him. She kissed his shoulder. "Good night, sweetheart," she whispered.

He muttered some sort of affirmation but was already half-asleep. His act of oral had been more than just an unspoken display of his love for her. More than a gift. It had helped to ease his greatly troubled mind by connecting telepathically with her and feeling her orgasmic joy in being so thoroughly pleasured. He had needed the reassurance that telling her his darkest moment hadn't emasculated him entirely in her eyes. It hadn't even crossed her mind tonight. Not once. He had needed to see that. To hear it. Experience it.

Frieza's abuses had damaged him in both body and mind, he was no idiot. He knew that intimately. Being with Bulma almost seemed to erase that trauma. It was almost mystifying how sexually compatible the two of them were. The memories were bothering him tonight (and would be for quite some time) but he knew her presence, her love, would ease the pain and heal him, eventually. He was a patient man when necessity called for it. He's had to be.

Wrapped in a cocoon of comforting warmth, he slept.

* * *

Late in afternoon of the next day, Tarble went looking for his brother.

The entire family had been seated together for breakfast but Vegeta had made it clear when the younger Saiyan started in with the questions: "Don't talk to me until after I've trained." Bulma explained further after the meal was over and the Saiyan had departed for parts unknown: "When he gets in a day's training he's more receptive to conversation because he's tired. He won't look it, or act it, but he is. If he's hurt it's actually a bonus, because he's so distracted at the possibility of losing precious training time that he won't bother with his usual monosymbollic responses. He'll speak his mind."

"I shouldn't think that would be much of an issue with him," Tarble said honestly.

"Trust me, you _want_ him talking. It's when he shuts down and goes quiet that you have to start worrying."

"Why is that?"

"Because that's when he reverts to his old ways of thinking, and none of it is any good. Especially not for him," she explained patiently.

Tarble realized that the "old ways" she was referring to were the years Vegeta served as a soldier. Having experienced a sample of that manic, homicidal personality the small man could relate to what she was saying. He deferred to her experience on the matter and he and Gure accepted a personally guided tour of Capsule Corp. and one of its many manufacturing plants. Bulma's pride was evident as she explained how her father's invention of the Hoi Poi capsules had been the starting point for what was now a world-wide empire dealing with space exploration, military contracts, automobile and aeronautic manufacturing, and even a trend-setting clothing line.

"All your ideas?" Gure piped up, watching as robotic arms pieced a hoverjet together on the assembly floor of the plant they were visiting. Nobody really seemed shocked at the heiress's unannounced visit as she guided them to the different departments. Or by the strange appearance of her two guests. Everyone seemed to accept it as a matter of course.

At the alien's question, she flushed slightly. "No, not all of them. I have a large think-tank of staff that help come up with most of this stuff. And Vegeta has made his own contributions. Quite a few of them, in fact."

Tarble immediately looked up at her in surprise. "He has?"

"He won't like me telling you this, but . . . he's been translating the technology he used in space into schematics that my staff turn into workable prototypes. He's made a _lot_ of money for the company," she waggled her eyebrows to add emphasis on the word.

"It seems my brother is full of surprises," Tarble said with a relieved smile.

"I wouldn't have him any other way," she said, puzzling them both with a slow, suggestive wink.

They returned to the headquarters building and went downstairs to the Research & Development lab where it was its usual controlled chaos. There, they met a tall, lanky scientist named Charles McNeal who, when introduced to Vegeta's brother, grabbed Tarble's hand and pumped it excitedly up and down. "Wow! Veggie has a kid brother! You look just like him, you know it?"

"Vegeta and Charles, um, work together. Sometimes," Bulma said, straight-faced.

"Aw, c'mon Bulma!" Charles admonished. "Down here, we're the Team Supreme! He's Badman and I'm his faithful sidekick: Dumbnuts. On occasion I'm also known as; Moron, Idiot, and As-"

"Okay, Chuck, we get the picture," she cut in hastily.

"Sweet. Hey, he was down here about an hour ago. Messed up the simulator-"

"_-Again,"_ they groaned together in perfect unison. Bulma sighed, looking at her watch. It was only two-thirty in the afternoon. Vegeta must have been really whaling on the gravity projectors for them to trip out so quickly. "Did you pass along the word?"

"Yep! 'Fix it yourself'. That bought me a new nickname. Wanna hear it?"

"I'll pass, thanks," she said and the scientist laughed and then was off running to the back of the lab on some other eccentric errand. Bulma turned to the two aliens who were still puzzling out the swift exchange. "It seems that a window of opportunity has opened up for you, Tarble."

"He's finished training?"

"Unless he can fix the room himself, yes. You remember where the simulator is, right? Just keep in mind, he'll be pissed but-"

"It's better that he's talking than being quiet, I remember," he said, kissing his mate on the cheek and heading for the exit.

Gure gingerly fingered the hem of her dress and looked up at Bulma, "Would it be alright if we went back to that marvelous atrium? It's so beautiful and peaceful in there. This tour is very nice of you but . . ."

"You miss your world, don't you?" Bulma said, leading the petite alien back upstairs.

Gure cast her a startled glance, surprised by the insight. "Tarble wants to stay for awhile to get to know his brother but I miss my kinfolk, yes. We'll return soon enough. I can wait until he's ready to leave."

"You're one unique couple."

"The same could be said for you and Vegeta."

That brought a surprised laugh out of Bulma. "Yeah, I guess you're right there. What is it about these Saiyan men, huh?"

"I don't know," Gure said, smiling. "But they're hard _not_ to love."

"Amen to that, sister."

The headquarters building was four levels high and contained a veritable labyrinth of doors that all looked alike, many of them unlabeled and locked. Not surprisingly, Tarble became disorientated once he returned to the main level. Thanks to the house computer, he was quickly back on track to finding the gravity simulator that his brother used for training. Bulma could have told him to simply use his ears:

Tarble rounded one corner and immediately heard a heavy _Thump!_ followed by: _"Sonovabitch!"_

As he drew closer, there was the sound of metal clanging against metal and another shout, this time closer: "You _miserable_ piece of _shit!_"

When he finally peered around an open door, he saw an enormous chamber with an intimidating module that dominated the center and was connected to the ceiling by reinforced brackets. There was damage to one side of the device, the metal twisted and charred. On the far side of the room was a console and beneath it were a pair of legs clad in blue spandex sticking out. There was a crackle of electricity and the white boots connected to the legs spasmed, followed immediately with, _"Motherf-"_

"Brother?"

Vegeta jerked in surprise and slammed his head underneath the console as he tried to sit up. He pulled out from underneath of the control panel, cradling his forehead and squinting painfully at the small man. "What the fuck do you want?" he shouted in frustration.

"I-I thought we could- I thought I- D-do you require . . . any assistance?" Tarble stammered. All at once he was ten years old again, facing off against a murderous stranger who was the embodiment of pure, unbridled fury.

Glaring back, Vegeta considered the other Saiyan for a moment and then something in his face changed. The anger turned into veiled confusion. "What are you wearing?"

"Oh!" Tarble exclaimed, looking down at himself in surprise. "Do you like it? Bulma said this was common apparel for men on this planet." He spread his arms wide and did a slow circle to show off his new clothes.

"Did she now," Vegeta grumbled. Tarble, of course, was wearing lime green pants and a bright pink shirt with "Goodboy" stenciled on the back in big, black letters. _That woman of mine sure has one twisted sense of humor,_ he brooded. _It reminds me to never get on her bad side._

"Is everything all right?" the small Saiyan asked as the examination lingered.

Sighing, Vegeta considered the wrench in his left hand and pitched it casually over his shoulder. "No, it's not, but it seems about par for the course."

Tarble had been about to comment and found his gaze drawn to the other man's bare chest, noticing the scars of battle etched into the tanned flesh. He had seen his fair share on his bodyguard, Shiitake, and they had always put him ill at ease. It didn't give him any comfort to see them on his brother.

Noticing his stare, Vegeta self-consciously crossed his arms and half-turned away, glaring at the wall. "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to talk to you," came the honest answer.

"It's a bad time."

"I doubt that there will ever be a good time."

"Got _that_ right."

"So here I am."

"I could throw you out."

"And I would just come right back."

"Not if I killed you."

"I don't think you would want to incite the wrath of my mate," Tarble said with a thin smile of amusement. "Or yours."

"Don't tempt me."

Tarble's grin widened.

It was the wrong thing to do at the wrong time. "Computer, seal door," Vegeta suddenly barked. "Engage simulator to maximum gravitational capacity."

All of the blood drained out of the small Saiyan's face when he realized what was happening. Bulma had told him that Vegeta trained in over 400 times Earth gravity, making him weigh approximately 56,000 pounds in that environment, and he could still fly and manage energy manipulation. Tarble knew he would be squashed like a bug.

He whirled and ran for the door only to have it close shut on pneumatic hinges and lock with a hiss of hydraulics. Red emergency lighting came on and a siren blared briefly. "_Now_ e_ngaging gravity projectors. Stand-by,_" the computer announced, as if it were a perfectly normal thing to say.

"Please brother!" Tarble pleaded, staggering over to where the man was standing and falling to his knees in supplication. "Don't let this happen. I beg you!"

Vegeta kept his arms crossed as he regarded the small man with weary disdain.

"_The simulator has now reached the maximum capacity of 403 times Earth's gravity,"_ the computer announced.

Wrapping his arms around his head, Tarble waited for the bone-crushing pressure to compress his frame to the floor. After a few seconds, he looked around in surprise and then raised his questioning eyes to Vegeta, who had yet to budge from his spot.

"The damn thing's broken," the prince said with a sneer. "Haven't you been paying any attention? Get on your feet, idiot! Computer, disable program. Unlock the door."

"_Acknowledged."_

"Get out," Vegeta said with deadly seriousness.

This time Tarble listened to him.

* * *

In the days that followed, Vegeta did his level best to avoid spending any alone time with his brother, coming up with one excuse or another (at one point he had even gone over to Goku's for a spar but the other fighter had been off gallivanting God knows where). Bulma refused to fix the simulator until he relented and now he found himself in a war of wills against not just one person but two. On the fifth day of Tarble's arrival to Earth, Bulma announced that she would be flying in her mother to play hostess to the pair. Vegeta finally caved.

Tarble was sitting out on the second floor patio placidly watching the traffic pass by the building and enjoying the sunny afternoon when the glass doors slid open and Vegeta walked out, clad in Earth casuals and carrying a six-pack of beer. He flopped down in one of the padded chairs, pulled a can free, popped the tab, and chugged it down.

"What are you doing?" Tarble politely inquired.

"No talking until I finish the fourth can."

It didn't take long. By the time he was nursing his fifth beer, Vegeta broke the tense silence with, "How the hell do the two of you screw?"

The look on Tarble face was best described as stunned amazement. ". . . I beg your pardon?"

"I've tried to picture it and I just can't make it work," the prince continued, slowly sipping his drink. "I mean, you're small but she's-" words utterly failed him at this juncture.

"Of all of the things we could be talking about, _that's_ your icebreaker?"

"You feel uncomfortable?"

"Yes."

"Angry?"

"Yes!"

"Now you know how I feel sitting here," Vegeta shot back.

A look of exasperation finally crossed the younger man's face. "You can leave if you wish. I won't stop you."

"That's no longer an option. I deal with you now, or I deal with you _and_ my mother-in-law later. I'm choosing the lesser of two evils."

"Is that what I am to you? An inconvenience?"

Vegeta fixed him with a level stare. "You should never have come here, Tarble. Personal relationship aside, you've drawn unwanted attention to this planet. I destroyed Abo and Cado's scouters and Bulma has confiscated their space pods but it's unknown how much information they transmitted back to space before they made landfall."

It was plain that the repercussions of fleeing Gure's world had never been considered before. A hectic flush rose up from the neckline of his shirt (this one a bright yellow) and suffused his face with color. "You fear an invasion?" he asked in a small voice.

"I fear nothing," Vegeta said, and that was the truth. "That's not the point I was trying to make anyway. You should have handled the situation on your own instead of involving us."

"How? I have hardly any powers!"

"You have a brain, idiot. Your adopted planet is full of powerful psonics. Together you could have come up with a strategy to deal with the intruders. Instead, you panicked and ran. What if I hadn't been here? What would have happened if Abo and Cado had found this world unprotected? You saw its water riches, correct?"

". . . Yes."

"This planet would have been sold, its citizens killed off or worse." Vegeta pointed a finger at the man on the other side of the table. "And it would have been all your fault."

Tarble swallowed, his eyes burning with unshed tears. He found he could not hold his stare with his brother any more and turned a guilty gaze out towards the city. Saving Gure's people had been such a priority in his mind that it hadn't even occurred to him he might be possibly sacrificing the safety of another world to accomplish the goal. "I never . . . By the stars, I didn't think- I didn't even consider . . ." he lapsed into troubled silence and then turned to watch his brother calmly drink his beer. "Do you- Could I try one of those?" he asked meekly.

Vegeta wordlessly nudged a can towards him with his elbow.

Trunks came home from school and immediately sought out his father with his heightened senses, then searched for his uncle Tarble's. He had been doing that a lot lately just to get a gauge on the whereabouts of both men. The two were almost like opposing magnets, repelling each other instead of attracting. Anywhere that Tarble was located, Vegeta was sure to be as far away as possible. It had been a predictable pattern for the last couple of days.

Today, he sensed the two were together.

Overcome with curiosity, he followed the subtle traces of ki to the patio that extended out from the family room. The two men were seated outside, chairs turned towards the city, their backs to him. Between them, on the table, was a litter of empty beer cans. Recognizing that this was possibly a once in a lifetime moment, Trunks whipped out his cell phone and immediately took a picture, sending it to his mother (and Goten, and Gohan, basically to everyone on his friends list). Less than five minutes later, Bulma joined him, almost out of breath from her mad dash from her downstairs office. The two used a chesterfield as cover to spy on the brothers.

"That's great!" Bulma whispered, patting her son on the back. "They're finally talking."

"Sounds more like they're burping," Trunks said wryly.

"Whatever. At least they're finally together. Your mother's a freakin genius, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know that," he sighed, rolling his eyes.

She tugged on his sleeve. "Let's leave them alone, sweetie. I don't want to disturb the moment," she said, and they crept out of the living room like a pair of thieves.

"They gone yet?" Vegeta grumbled.

Tarble twisted around and looked into the living room. "Yes, I think so."

"That woman of mine . . ." Vegeta shook his head irritably and popped open another beer. It was his fifteenth and he was cruising along quite nicely on a mellow buzz, at least he had been until his son and mate decided to play "Crocodile Hunter" and spy on them as if they were a pair of endangered owls. "She doesn't know when to leave well enough alone."

"She loves you," Tarble said, searching through the empties for a full can. He was growing quite fond of the odd tasting beverage. It was very similar to a brew that Gure's people concocted out of fermented grain.

Vegeta swung his head around and growled, "What's your point?"

"She wants what's best for you, that's all."

"And getting drunk with you is part of her plan? I rather doubt it."

"We're talking. That's all she wanted. Gure, too."

"Where _is_ your better half anyway?"

"In the atrium. She's been spending more and more time there. She's getting very homesick. We'll be leaving soon, I think."

"I'll drink to that," Vegeta said, raising his can briefly in the air and then downing the contents in a single gulp.

Tarble observed him sadly. "Do you hate me that much?"

"I don't hate you," came the surprising answer. "We just don't have anything in common. We're strangers bound together by circumstance, not by blood."

"You say not by blood, but that's my origin. From _your_ blood."

"Oh, so that's supposed to make it all better? You were created out of my DNA to be my replacement. Is _that_ supposed to endear you to me? I don't think so."

"I can't be blamed for what your-_our_ father did-"

"I'm not blaming you. I just can't accept you," Vegeta said bluntly and got up and left the balcony.

Slumping dejectedly into his chair, Tarble considered the Western Capital as he coped with the odd sensation of dulled senses caused by the Terran beverage. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling but making sense of his troubled thoughts took more effort than usual. He shouldn't have been surprised by his brother's rejection but it hurt all the same to hear it. All his adult life he saw Gure with her people, her kin, and he ached with wanting to know what that sense of belonging felt like. Now he would never know.

He was still mulling over his thoughts when he detected a presence and he saw that Vegeta had returned, settling back down into his seat. "I thought you'd left," he said, amazement creeping into his voice.

The prince held up a large bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. "We're out of beer. We'll have to make do with this."

"What is it?"

Vegeta squinted at the label. "Kame no O sake. The chef likes to use it in some of his Japanese dishes."

When supper rolled around, Bulma had service droids take plates of food out to the two rather than disturb them by having them come into the house. It was probably better for them to be outside. Occasionally, both of their voices rose in anger before settling back down to more rational, muted tones. It bothered her to see Vegeta drinking, truth to tell. He became extremely unpredictable when he mixed his booze and so far, he and Tarble had polished off two cases of beer, a bottle of rice wine and were now working through her private stash of Bailey's Irish Crème. How they could be drinking _that_ while eating lasagna and garlic bread was anybody's guess. Just thinking about it made her want to vomit.

Trunks was leaning over the backrest of the sofa and filming them. This was a side of his father he had never seen before and he was absolutely fascinated. "Is dad really drunk, mom?"

"Let's just say he's feeling no pain," Bulma said, grabbing the video recorder out of his hands. "Stop that! Turn around and do your homework."

"But mom!" he objected. "What if he does something funny?"

"Your father doesn't _do_ funny, dear."

"Yeah, okay, but what if he does something that, y'know, maybe he wouldn't want anyone _else_ to see?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

Trunks shrugged sheepishly. "I'm just saying a smart person could use it to get some neat toys or-or fancy jewelry or something like that . . ."

Bulma mulled it over for about five seconds and then handed the camcorder back.

"What's your son doing?" Tarble asked, staring bleary-eyed at the patio doors.

"Learning the finer points of extortion. Don't worry about him," Vegeta said, dipping his garlic bread into his glass of Bailey's and eating it (when Trunks relayed that little tidbit to his mother, she gagged). "What did you mean when you said you don't like to fight? What do you know about battle?"

"Nothing," the younger man admitted. "Except from the stories that Shiitake told me. And listening to the broadcasts in space."

"You never felt like you wanted to be a part of any of that?"

"Of course not!" Tarble cried, absolutely horrified by the concept. "It was terrible to hear you bragging about your missions. Laughing about all the helpless people you killed."

Vegeta's eyes sharpened on the other man's face. "You were listening to me?"

"You weren't on an encrypted channel. Everyone was listening!"

He shrugged and then drank out of his glass. "Good."

"Good?" Tarble gaped at him. "How was any of that good?"

"Remember where I came from, _boy_," Vegeta growled, placing emphasis on the pronoun. "I was a lone Saiyan Prince serving among forces who loathed my kind. It was necessary to use any means I could find to be as intimidating as possible. If I came across crazy and homicidal over the space bands, people listened and feared me."

Tarble looked over at him hopefully. "So . . . you're saying it was all an act?"

"No. I was crazy and homicidal," he said, smirking.

Tarble's face darkened. "It's not funny. All those worlds, all those lives- _It's not funny!_"

"What are you getting your tail in a knot for?" Vegeta said bitterly. "You were safe and well taken cared of. What the hell do you think _you_ would have been expected to do if our positions had been reversed? You think you could have just told Frieza: 'No thanks. I don't feel like invading any planets today. Thanks so much for asking'?"

The smaller man backed off. "You had no choice," he realized. "I understand that. Really, I do. I just . . . I just wish you hadn't sounded like you enjoyed it so much. That's what bothers me about the whole thing."

"I'm a Saiyan! Of course I enjoyed it," Vegeta said peevishly. "Which just calls into question: What the hell's wrong with _you_?"

"What are you talking about? There's nothing wrong with me," Tarble said defensively.

"Bullshit. You're my freaking clone! You don't have any powers and you don't have the killing nature of a Saiyan. Something went wrong."

"Perhaps I'm an improvement," he sniffed, holding his chin up in an aloof manner.

It took all of Vegeta's willpower not to knock that snotty look off of the other man's face. His hands gripped the cherry wood armrests and turned them into splinters. "You little shit," he said in a hateful tone of voice. "Don't you _dare_ presume to be superior to _me_."

His brother returned the glare, unflinching. The alcohol had loosened his tongue and given him more of a backbone than he would have possessed normally in similar circumstances (unfortunately, it also seemed to have eroded his sense of self-preservation). "You're barely in control of your emotions, Vegeta. All you ever want to do is incite conflict and engage in battle. I just want to live in peace. Which one is the more civilized perspective?"

"We're not talking about rational concepts here. I never said Saiyans were rational. Battle is what we're bred to do; it's all we were ever meant to care about. All of your nonsense babble about embracing peace . . . That's not what a true Saiyan would say."

Tarble decided to drop the bombshell. "Perhaps I don't want to be a Saiyan."

". . . What?"

"I hate being Saiyan," the smaller man continued. "It's shameful to think I'm a member of a race that butchered helpless races for the profit of selling their worlds. It's disgusting. _They're_ disgusting."

Vegeta raised a trembling finger and pointed it at him. "You shut your mouth right now-"

"Senseless barbarians!" Tarble continued. "Believing that all other races were inferior when, in fact, they were the ones who-" A blast of ki slammed into his chest and propelled him through the railing and down to the yard below, where he lay in the grass, stunned.

With a shout of anger, Vegeta took to the sky and his aura burst around his enraged form, transcending to the Super Saiyan state almost instantly. He landed beside Tarble and gripped him by the hair, raising his head so that they could see eye-to-eye. "You don't know jack shit about Saiyans, _little brother_," he ground out from between clenched teeth. "But don't worry, I'm going to teach you."

Gasping in fear, Tarble realized, too late, that he had said the worst possible thing. Vegeta was still the prince of their extinct people, and he was the living embodiment of all that they had been: A unique breed of elite warriors having absolutely no equal. He carried the rampant pride of his proud lineage solely on his shoulders, wearing it like a banner for all to see.

And Tarble had just spat on it. The ultimate affront. "I-I'm sorry-"

"No, you're not. But you will be-"

"Vegeta!" Bulma was leaning over the banister, staring down at him. Her eyes were huge in the growing twilight of the approaching dusk. She was quickly joined by Trunks and Gure.

Vegeta never even noticed them. "-I guarantee it," he finished, picking up the smaller man as if he were a bag of potatoes and shooting off into the darkening sky.

* * *

Next chapter: Tarble learns the hard way about the true nature of Saiyans.


	6. Creature of Magic and Darkness

Gohan was conducting research in the library at the University he attended when his cell phone vibrated. He flipped it open and saw another message from Trunks. He had been getting updates on Vegeta's progress with Tarble over the last couple of days, none of it very good news, and didn't expect much when he clicked on the image attached to the text, which read: _Bros n beers._

It was Vegeta and Tarble, shot from behind, sitting out on the deck with an enormous pile of beer cans on the table between them, presumably all empty. Gohan almost dropped the phone in shock. Vegeta was drinking? That _couldn't_ be good. The last time the young man had seen that had been two years ago. He could personally testify that the Saiyan prince was not a cheerful drinker.

He immediately texted back: _Everything ok?_

Barely a minute later, he got: _np kyp_ ("No problem. Keep you posted")

For some reason that didn't instill him with much confidence.

He sought out Piccolo with his mind and relayed the situation. The Namek accepted the news with his characteristic nonchalance. This week of inactivity at Capsule Corp. had just allowed the storm clouds to build and Piccolo knew that the tempest was soon to erupt. All signs were pointing to it happening today.

_What should we expect?_ Gohan asked.

_With Vegeta? Anything's possible_, came the casual response. And that was certainly the truth.

So, for the next few hours, Gohan pretended he was reading huge library tomes when he was really staring down at his cell phone anxiously waiting for reports from Trunks. They trickled in sporadically and quickly became a recognizable pattern (to Saiyans and half-breeds, anyway): Vegeta and Tarble argued; they ate; they drank; they argued; they ate; they drank, etc.

Finally, at about eight-thirty came the message Gohan had been dreading: _!SOS! Omfg dads gone postal!_ It was almost anticlimactic. Ten seconds before, Gohan's senses had screamed warning as Vegeta's unique ki signature went from zero to planet-busting in just two heart-beats.

_Ah crap, there he goes . . . _Piccolo remarked, it sounded almost like a sigh.

_I'll start after him- _Gohan jumped to his feet.

_Just a minute. I have a suspicion that-_ Vegeta's signature suddenly dropped back down to undetectable levels. _Yeah, I figured that would happen. He won't let us track him. We'll have to wait until he loses his temper again and follow him that way._ There was almost an overtone of humor to Piccolo's thoughts when he added, _It shouldn't take long._

* * *

"Please brother. Where are you taking me?"

"Where there aren't any witnesses, so shut up!" Vegeta yelled down at the struggling man pinned under his right arm. They were skimming low over the Pacific ocean, a deliberate westerly course from the Capital, and the Saiyan's speed was bringing up huge waves in his wake. Tarble stopped struggling when he realized a fall at this speed would probably break all of the bones in his body.

"I'm sorry," the smaller man said sincerely. "I wasn't thinking about what I was saying-"

"You know full well what you said and you meant every damned word. Your mate isn't the only telepath in the family. You have your wretched life because of me and you dare spit on my heritage? On _our_ heritage? I'm not having it!" Vegeta raged, his sharp vision scanning the ocean for a land mass. _Hell, at this point a puny sand bar would do the trick!_ A few minutes later, he found the perfect spot; an abandoned island, barely more than a pile of rocks with some tough shrubs clinging to the barren surface. A flock of roosting seagulls took to the air when he landed and squalled their displeasure at the interruption. When several dared to take a dive at him, Vegeta picked them off with a couple of ki blasts. Charred feathers took to the wind and the rest of the birds quickly scattered.

Tarble looked around uneasily, having lost his liquid courage (and most of his supper) over the water. "Please, Vegeta, I don't want to fight you."

"Is that why you think we're here?"

"What other reason could there be?"

Crossing his arms, Vegeta glared sidelong at him. "You insulted me. You insulted our people. Why _shouldn't_ I beat the shit out of you?"

"I spoke out of turn-"

"No. Your excuses aren't going to save you here. Why do you hate Saiyans so much?"

"I don't-" he remembered what he had said earlier and he tried to gather his fuzzy thoughts for a proper debate. "Alright, maybe I do think poorly of the Saiyans. Shiitake told me stories of battle but I was raised by Gure's people and violence is an unknown concept. Perhaps . . . perhaps I've been influenced by them."

"You think?" Vegeta said with clear sarcasm.

"Is that such a bad thing?" Tarble asked, struggling to maintain a level of calm. It wasn't easy because he felt like he was ten years-old again, back on Gure's world. It was then that he realized that he feared his older brother and probably always would. "Isn't that what happened to you here on Earth?"

The anger was slowly returning to the prince's face again. "Idiot! Just because I live here doesn't mean I've turned my back on who and what I am. I still embrace my Saiyan identity even though our race is dead. I haven't discarded it like you have."

"I didn't discard it. I've just never felt it. You speak of a race that embodies power and violence. I don't even know what that feels like!"

"And those are the magic words," Vegeta said with a cruel smile. "That's precisely what I wanted to hear." He held out his right hand and tendrils of pure white ki began to coalesce into a ball that grew steadily larger in size and brilliance. Tarble was instantly transfixed by the sight. _It was so beautiful-!_

"What are you-" He was interrupted as Vegeta whirled around, throwing the globe of ki into the air and suddenly clenching his hand as he shouted, "Burst and mix!" The ball exploded into glaring white light that staggered them both. Whirling away from it, Tarble covered his eyes, fearing he would go blind. Rough hands grabbed his head and force him back around.

"Look at it!" Vegeta snarled into his ear. "Stop cringing and look at it!"

"I don't want- I-I . . ." Tarble looked up at the luminescent orb in the night sky and immediately went still, seemingly hypnotized by the rays of mystical light that seemed to make his entire body tingle and shake. "Wh-what's happening to me?" he whispered, unable to pull his eyes away. His heart was thudding powerfully in his chest and his breathing was increasing. He was dimly aware that he had an erection. It was almost like the mental bondings he shared with Gure, except this was a purely physical reaction and it was overwhelming with its intensity.

"How does it feel?" Vegeta asked, backing carefully away.

"It's . . . ohh, it –it's-" _wonderful,_ he was going to say before his mind wiped clean of all logic and dissolved into base instinct. His words came out in a low growl and his body shuddered. All at once, his clothes split along the seams as his small mass contorted and grew to gigantic proportions. Dense russet fur coated his powerful body and when he raised his head to roar at the false moon Vegeta created, his face had elongated into a powerful muzzle full of sharp fangs. His eyes were two glowing red embers of rage and he raised his massive arms and screamed into the night sky, a fifty foot Oozaru newly arrived to the world.

Vegeta flew a short distance away to avoid being a potential target. He hovered in the air, his arms crossed, and watched his younger brother pace restlessly back and forth across the small landmass. "_Now_ you know what it feels like to be a Saiyan," he said with satisfaction.

* * *

Pausing in midflight, Piccolo tried to identify the conflicting energy signatures he was detecting. He had felt Vegeta's surge and ebb once more only to be replaced by a new power level that showed no signs of restraint. _That's Tarble_, the fighter realized with shock. The sense of it was all wrong; just wild, unfocused fury. It was something he hadn't felt in over fifteen years.

_Oozaru, _he thought with dread. Tarble had turned into a great ape.

The moon was only half-full but that didn't matter with Vegeta on the planet. The prince knew precisely how to circumvent that minor inconvenience. He had proved how when he invaded the planet and found it without its moon: He just created another and transformed and nearly ended up destroying the planet anyway. Piccolo had learned several times over the years that Vegeta was one resourceful son-of-a-bitch.

As he raced across the ocean following Tarble's heightened power levels as if they were a beacon, he couldn't understand the logic in the change. Did Vegeta want to make his brother more of a challenge in a battle? Even at the level he was now, Tarble wasn't much of a threat. When Gohan had transformed the first time at the age of four, he had been far more powerful than what Piccolo was detecting right now.

He spotted the ghostly false moon low on the horizon and raced towards it. What he found was a frustrated Oozaru rampaging across a rock pile barely forty feet wide. Back and forth, back and forth, reaching the water on one end and getting his feet wet and then pounding the rocks beneath his feet in frustration before turning to head in the other direction. The night air was full of his irritated howls as he tried to puzzle out a way to get off this water-stranded prison. He wanted to smash, pound, jump, and kill. He wanted to see fire and taste blood and his twitching frame ached for combat.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?" commented a low voice and Piccolo turned and saw that Vegeta had joined him.

Ignoring the comment, the Namek shouted, "What the hell do you think you're playing at here, Vegeta? To what end?"

Vegeta looked over at him and Piccolo sucked in breath. The prince was not entirely unaffected by his exposure to the false moon. He had no tail to transform but he still could absorb the Brutz rays the power ball released and his eyes were like two silver dollars, glowing in the arcane light. "Tarble has lived his entire life on a world with no moon," he said, and it looked like even his teeth had gotten sharper than they had any right to be. "He's never transformed. I've given him the opportunity to do that."

"So it was a gift?" Piccolo asked in disbelief.

Vegeta's response was a disgusted snort.

"Then why did you do it?"

"I don't need to be told that the Saiyans were a brutal race," Vegeta said instead, ignoring the question. Piccolo had to remind himself that the Saiyan was intoxicated and mood swings were a matter of course. "I don't need to hear from some powerless, useless, knock-off how the Saiyans were and what fate we deserved. I lived it!"

"So it's a punishment," Piccolo concluded. "He insulted you."

The Saiyan spared him a nod. "I won't put up with that. Not from some damned clone."

The Namek blinked in surprise. For the last five days, he had been wondering what would have motivated Vegeta, who openly mourned the loss of his people, to ignore the existence of a sibling who he could possibly share that burden with. Now he realized that Tarble didn't share that grief, he was only contributing to it. _A clone_ . . . he thought with dread. _Damn, that explains a lot._ Out loud he said, "Vegeta, whatever his origins, he's still Saiyan. Isn't that the only thing that matters?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Vegeta pointed to the pacing creature on the island. "Because he doesn't care," he growled. "He was created from my flesh, from my blood, and he doesn't care. It doesn't matter to him how the Saiyan race lived or died. As far as he's concerned it's for the good of the universe that we're practically extinct. How can I be expected to accept that _or_ him?"

"Perhaps he just doesn't know any better," Piccolo reasoned. "Look how you were when you first came here."

"That's irrelevant."

"Is it? You were ignorant of Earth's people and customs, suffering from Frieza's brainwashing, caught up in your own fervor of being the most powerful fighter alive. Look how many years it's taken for you to finally settle down. I'll admit I know next to nothing about Tarble, but it's safe to assume that he's spent his entire life in a sheltered, peaceful environment. How else would he know any different unless someone actually takes the time and tells him?"

Vegeta glowered at him for a long moment, considering, and then finally turned to look at the creature having a temper tantrum on the small island. He suddenly created a destructo disk and, before Piccolo could react, flicked it casually from his fingers. It sliced through the air in a deadly arc towards Tarble and sliced off his tail. The transformation reversed itself with amazing swiftness until there was only a small, unconscious naked man lying facedown on the rocks.

"I've given him what he wants," Vegeta said with finality. "I've just ensured that the Saiyan race is now truly extinct."

Piccolo chose not to comment and dropped down beside Tarble to check his vitals. The man was breathing quickly, his heartbeat fast but regular. Above the cleft of his buttocks, the raw stump of his tail was spouting blood. Shrugging out of his cape, the Namek laid it over the small form, looking over to where Vegeta landed. He had picked up the limp tail and was looking down at it sadly.

"I am Prince Vegeta, last heir apparent of King Vegeta of the Saiyan Empire, achiever of the State of the Legendary," he said, petting the russet fur. "But without _this_, none of it means a damned thing. It's all meaningless without the ability to transform." He threw it away and wiped his hands on his pants. "I wasn't going to let him keep his tail since you bastards saw fit to take _mine_ away from me," he said spitefully, fixing the Namek with a baleful stare.

"Ancient history," Piccolo rumbled. "What's done is done. Let it go, Vegeta."

The stare-down continued and might even have escalated if Tarble hadn't picked that moment to rouse. Groaning in pain, he looked around at his surroundings like a man waking up from a nightmare and his stomach rebelled from the slight movement. His supper and copious amounts of undigested liquor flew out of his mouth and soaked both of Piccolo's orange shoes.

"You know what? That almost makes it all worth it," Vegeta said with a smirk.

Piccolo took to the air in a hasty retreat. Shaking the vomit from his feet, he sent a caution out to Gohan, and to any others who might be coming to investigate: _Don't interfere. It's Vegeta's business. Stay away_. Privately, he was thinking how much simpler things had been on Earth before these crazy Saiyans ever showed up.

Tarble managed to raise himself on one elbow and struggled to remain conscious. He hurt _. . . everywhere_. It felt like every muscle in his body was strained, even his teeth ached. One pain eclipsed everything else and he reached for the small of his back and moaned when his fingers grazed a wet lump where his tail was supposed to be. When he pulled his hand back and saw his fingers were smeared with blood, he released a cry of shock and horror.

"_What did you do to me?"_ he howled miserably at the man standing beside him.

"I gave you what you wanted. Now you're no longer a Saiyan."

"Not like this! _I didn't want it like this!_ Why did you force me to-to change?"

"Because I wanted you feel the true nature of the Saiyans before I took it away from you," Vegeta said honestly. "How was it?"

Tarble tried to remember what just happened. His mind felt fragmented, warped by a sensory input of scents and sounds devoid of complex thoughts and all driven by an instinctive imperative to inflict simple, mindless violence. The transformation had lasted for maybe ten minutes but, for the younger man, it might as well have been forever because it was now inside him, the true nature of the beast, and he was never going to rid himself of it. Ever.

"We were Oozaru first, long ago, before we learned to shape-change into these smaller, weaker bodies," Vegeta said, crouching down beside him. His face was dreamy, distant, eyes drawn to the power ball and his thoughts lost to peaceful, less complicated times that had existed long before his years. "We lived in those huge, magnificent forms, bred, thrived for millennia. Ultimately, it became too much power for us to control. We destroyed our first home world and a handful managed to make it to the planet inhabited by the Tuffles. Our transformations became tied to the cycle of the moon so that we could continue to evolve as a people and create a culture of our own. We were savage and uneducated. It was never intended for us to ever leave Planet Vegeta, but we had powers no one else did and the King was ambitious. All technology we possessed we stole from other planets. As we expanded our empire we gained Frieza's notice and he saw us for what we truly were and exploited it: Warriors of the Moon, unique to the universe. The perfect soldiers. We were the Saiyan race."

Vegeta turned towards him, his eyes glowing with that mystical, arcane light. "Do you understand?"

Putting his face in his hands, Tarble wept but it wasn't entirely because of his pain. He was deeply ashamed for his words, his views, and for embracing the contempt he'd learned from alien races he'd never met as he listened to hours of unfiltered broadcasts from space battles that were light years away. He had just felt firsthand that being Saiyan was far more than being a bloodthirsty killer. It was someone who had the ability to tap into an almost elemental conduit of supernatural power and become a being that had no place in science and should never have been pulled from its simple roots to engage in battle against other races. The Saiyans had been drafted into service, and once they had gotten a taste of the violence that Frieza had offered, their simple, animalistic natures only wanted more of it.

Tarble ultimately realized that the Saiyans couldn't be faulted for what they'd done to other worlds any more than a predator introduced into a fragile ecosystem could be held accountable for its own actions. They had simply kept true to their base nature.

That was what Vegeta wanted him to know. To feel_._ To-

". . . understand," Table choked out. "Yes, I . . . I understand. _Now_."

The Prince of Saiyans passed him one curt nod. "Then we're done here," he said and gently picked up his younger brother, careful not to touch the stump of his tail, and wrapped him in Piccolo's heavy cape for the return flight home.

* * *

Bulma was livid.

When Vegeta stepped out of the infirmary, she was immediately in his face. "What were you thinking? _Huh? _Charging off like that and scaring us all half to death? What was all that about?"

"We needed privacy so I could change him into Oozaru," he said, completely unfazed by the hostility in his rabid mate. He had his hands in his pockets and was staring back at her mildly. "No harm done."

"No harm-" She ran her fingers through her hair and mussed it. "The nurse is paging the doctor to come and operate on Tarble and you say 'No harm done'? _Are you crazy?"_

"Don't change the subject. It's best to desensitize the severed nerves now rather than wait like I did." He had stubbornly gone on for years in agony until relenting five years ago and finally had the procedure to have the nerves deadened. In retrospect, he wasn't sure why he had allowed the suffering to go on for so long. Perhaps some part of him had still been hoping his tail would grow back.

Bulma remembered how bad it had gotten for him. There had been days after training when he could barely straighten up. "Why did you do it? Why cut off his tail? He was no threat on Gure's world."

"Abo and Cado's soldiers learned that he was a Saiyan survivor. Without his tail, he's no longer a subject of any interest," Vegeta responded sensibly.

Logic. Bulma hadn't been expecting that. ". . . Are you still drunk?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you're acting weirder than usual, even for you," she said honestly, pointing to the exit. "I'm going to stay down here and make sure that Tarble's alright. You get out of here and go sober up."

He headed for the door without argument. Just before he ducked out of sight, he passed her a roguish smirk that put her on her guard. She knew that cocky look; He had done something and gotten away with it. She had to find out what it was.

Tarble had been given a sedative and was lying on his stomach on a bed in the infirmary, waiting for the doctor to put out the fire raging in his lower back. He had never felt such pain as this. He laid his head listlessly on the pillow, its surface damp with his tears and held his wife's hand, wincing with every unnecessary movement.

"It's alright, beloved," Gure consoled him, close to tears herself. She was bonded to her mate and was helpless to stop the pain that radiated through their rapport. "The healer on this world will come and help you. It won't be very long."

"The doctor's just pulled into the yard," Bulma told them, pulling back the sheet around the bed and peering in. It was as sad a sight as she'd ever seen and her heart ached for the both of them. "I'm so sorry for what Vegeta's done. Really. I didn't know he-"

"Don't apologize for him," Tarble rasped, rolling his eyes in her direction. "He didn't do anything wrong. He opened my eyes to the truth of our people. If anyone should apologize, it should be me for insulting him as I did."

"What do you mean?"

"I told him that the Saiyans were barbarians and deserved to die for their sins. I didn't know their origins, I didn't know they-" he tried to put the sensations of the Great Ape transformation into words and came up floundering. "I didn't know what _we_ truly were."

"And what was that?"

Tarble's eyes fluttered closed and opened again with difficulty. "Creatures of magic and darkness. A breed not intended for this universe . . ." he was drifting off, fading into a drug-induced slumber. ". . . Small wonder we were killed off . . ." he words ended as a forlorn sigh.

Gure raised a tiny hand and placed it on his temple, easing him with her mind and guiding him down into pain-free slumber. His dreams were usually peaceful memories of their world, her kinfolk, sometimes Shiitake. For some reason, that simple tableau had changed to a dark void where scents became visible, undulating colors, dim in the fog of dark impulses and crimson slashes where a bloated white circle hung low on the horizon, calling, beaconing, to come and dance in the raging climax of bloodshed.

Pulling out of her mate's mind with a gasp, Gure stared at him in shock.

Tarble, now asleep, was smiling.

All staff at Capsule Corp. had to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement as a condition of employment and the medical staff on duty knew full well that they weren't simply dealing with empowered humans when it came to the family of the company President. One blood sample from Vegeta or Trunks pretty much cemented the understanding that they were dealing with extraterrestrials here. The doctor knew exactly what had to be done once he saw Tarble's unique wound. After some initial preparation, it took him maybe all of three hours to trim off extra protrusions of bone leftover from where the tail had been crudely severed, deaden the live nerves, and seal the wound so expertly that it hardly left a mark that there had ever been a tail there in the first place. He did so all without comment to the nurse assisting him, handling it as a matter of course.

"If he heals as fast as your husband, he should be back on his feet by tomorrow," the doctor told Bulma when he was finished. Behind him, the nurse was checking the dressing on Tarble's lower back and adjusting an IV drip to keep him sedated.

"Actually, he's a little more . . . delicate," she admitted, looking over to where Gure was seated. For some reason, she was sitting in the chair furthest away from the bed and staring at her husband with haunted eyes. "He doesn't have the pain tolerance that Vegeta has, either. He'll probably need some extra care."

"Oh, well, that's fine. We have the space and the staff. That's not a problem," the man said easily, and went to complete some paperwork before heading back home for the night.

"Gure?" Bulma walked over to the tiny alien. "I spoke to the doctor. Tarble's going to be just fine."

"No, he's not," she whispered, almost too low for her to hear.

"Seriously, it's not a life-threatening wound. He'll recover before you-"

"No, he won't!" the alien yelled and suddenly slapped both of her hands over her mouth. Her eyes were huge in her round face. "He came back . . . different," she finally said. "He's not the man I married. Not anymore."

Bulma sat beside her and rubbed her back, trying to calm her. "I don't know the full story of what happened but I do know that Vegeta forced Tarble to transform."

". . . Transform?"

"Saiyans can shape-change into a giant ape when they're exposed to a full moon. Vegeta knows how to create a false moon that works the same way when one isn't available, or if it isn't in its cycle."

"Our world hasn't got a moon."

"So Tarble's never transformed before," Bulma mused, nodding. "That explains a lot. Only elite Saiyans like Vegeta could control their Oozaru forms. Changing didn't affect him personally. You're probably sensing some sort of after-affect from the transition, Gure. It was probably quite a shock to Tarble to experience it, but it'll pass."

Startling anger crossed the little female's face. Her pale green skin darkened to a deep emerald. "It's not right. He had no right to do this," she said and suddenly disappeared from Bulma's sight with a 'pop' of displaced air.

"Uh oh," Bulma said gravely.

Vegeta was seated on his customary perch on the outside railing of the bedroom balcony when the house computer chimed, "_Prince Vegeta. There's an urgent message from Ms. Briefs."_

"Take a message," he muttered. He had lost his buzz about an hour ago and was starting to feel the thud of a hangover pushing at his temples. It always happened when he mixed his booze, thankfully he didn't indulge too often.

He was starting to think that he might have poorly handled the situation with Tarble. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out any other method that could have possibly resolved the issue with such finality. Tarble didn't know what being a Saiyan was like: Problem solved. Tarble didn't like being a Saiyan: Problem solved. Vegeta had handled the affront to his honor without bloodshed or a body count: Case closed.

So why was it starting to bother him? Why did he have the feeling that he had forgotten something (or someone) by committing such a rash act?

His question was answered when he heard Bulma shouting out of the house intercom: "_Vegeta, I think that Gure might be looking for you_-" In that same instant, _Pop! _Gure appeared on the balcony, facing him with clenched fists.

Vegeta blinked. Teleportation. These little creatures were full of surprises. "What do you want?" he asked carefully.

"You changed him," she said. Her mouth was curved down into a quivering bow and tears were leaking from her eyes. "I came to Earth with a sweet, gentle man and you changed him!"

"Now listen-" he had been starting to get down off the railing and a blast of pure thought slammed into him and knocked him over the side. He barely recovered in time to land on the lawn on his feet instead of his face. He powered up and raised a shield of glowing ki as the tiny alien jumped down and walked towards him, devoid of fear.

"You had no right to do what you did!" she raged. "Why did you force him to transform? To what end?"

"He's lived thirty-nine years believing he's one of _you_," Vegeta sneered. "He's not some bobble-headed pacifist. He's a Saiyan!"

"_You ruined him!"_ she screeched.

"I showed him the truth of his origins. I let him feel our primal spirit. If opening his eyes to what he really is has 'ruined him' for you, then tough shit. Deal with it."

"I wish we'd never come here."

"That makes two of us, freak."

"You are unrepentant," she observed, her eyes narrowing with spite. "Your heart is plagued with darkness and you would see fit to corrupt my beloved with your taint. I will not allow it to continue."

"Oh really?" Vegeta looked at her as if she'd gone mad. "And what are you going to do about it?"

"Send you back," she hissed.

He frowned, remembering the meeting with his father that she had effortlessly created. ". . . Send me back where?"

"Where you deserve to be," was all he heard before his surroundings warped and reshaped themselves to recreate an office of sterile white walls and furniture, where the air temperature suddenly dropped to barely above freezing. His breath came out in a cloud of vapor as he looked around and spotted a figure standing in front of a viewing portal, looking out at the featureless ruins of a world that was now identified by a number.

_Oh no,_ Vegeta thought. _No, no, no-_

"Six minutes. When I call for you I expect you to hurry, Vegeta," Frieza said disapprovingly as he looked out of the window.

_This can't be happening! Not again!_ Vegeta raved in his mind as his mouth uttered the eerily familiar, "I was here but Zarbon and Dodoria-"

"Zarbon and Dodoria what?"

"Nothing, Lord Frieza. They did nothing. I apologize for my tardiness," he said, repeating words and actions that were over thirty years in the past. He was stuck like a marionette at the hands of a cruel puppet master with his present-day mind forced to relive this nightmare all over again. _I can't go through this. I can't-I can't-I-I-_

Frieza invited him to sit down for a friendly chat and Vegeta, helpless and trapped in his fifteen year-old body, was forced to listen _-again-_ about his father and brother. And endure -_again_- what followed in the wake of that malicious revelation. Gure hovered over the Saiyan's mind with her own heightened skills of thought and time. She had thought that her brother-in-law was immoral. She was now discovering what true evil really was. _Oh stars-!_ She moaned in horror, breaking the silence. _I had no idea-!_

Sensing her indecision, Vegeta's own mind surged up and overpowered her with frantic desperation. There was brief clashing of telepathic barriers but this time, the Saiyan's panic-driven thoughts won out. He staggered backwards and fell down on the lawn of the Capsule Corp. compound, teetering on the edge of serious shock. He was only dimly aware that he was free of the prison that had forced him to endure Frieza's tortures all over again until his eyes fell on Gure-

-and he completely lost his mind.

Baring his teeth in livid fury, his Super Saiyan aura bathed his compact frame, lighting up the entire yard. He immediately fired a blast of energy at her, not wasting any time or effort for words. He had done what Bulma feared the most; he had shut-down and lapsed back into a state of primeval, thoughtless violence.

The blast ricocheted off of a shield that Gure barely brought up in time and he wasn't going to allow her the opportunity for a breather. He leapt to the air and shot his hands forward in a rapid-fire attack that shot dozens of ki missiles at the little female. Some were guided by thought and swept around to attack her vulnerable back and she had to create a bubble of protection around herself, gasping at the rage she felt guiding this insane barrage. Despite the attack, she refused to retaliate. This was her fault. She had picked a memory that she sensed had been weighing the heaviest on Vegeta's mind. She'd had no idea of how horrible it was or how damaged it had left the furious man. In forcing him to relive it all over again, she had just made his trauma ten times worse.

Screaming in fury, Vegeta rose above the compound and his body began to glow brighter as he collected desperate energy. Forks of electricity snapped off of his form and lit the clouds and snaked down into the city below. Transformers around the Capital exploded in a shower of sparks causing interrupted power in many sections of the huge city. Cars and trains immediately found their routes disrupted and accidents occurred with startling speed. Metal hit metal, horns sounded, voices rose in shouts and screams while the sirens of police, ambulance and fire trucks began to blare into the chaotic night. It sounded like the beginning of the end of the world.

"Holy crap, mom!" Trunks said, meeting his mother at the back door and craning his head up at the sky, shielding his eyes. "I think he's powering up for a Final Flash!"

"Can you stop him?" she asked. She didn't want her son to get involved but there was nobody close enough to call. She needed an intervention fast!

"I can try a Super Knuckle Buster," Trunks said, transforming into the first Super form and then surging his power towards the second level. "I'll try to make it hard and fast-" he was suddenly gone from her side. A streak of yellow light that swept skywards in a rapid blur.

"Be careful!" she shouted after him, not knowing why things had gotten so out of control so quickly. Vegeta had been entirely relaxed when he had left the infirmary. Why was he suddenly acting like this?

Her eyes fell on Gure who, like everyone else in the city, was watching the sky and the petite female noticed her stare and slowly turned her head. Her face was marked with regretful tears. "Gure? What's wrong?"

"I-I'm sorry, Bulma. I lost my temper. I've never done that before. I'm so _sorry!"_

"You lost your. . . " The heiress looked up where her husband was glowing like a star about to go super nova. "Gure, what did you do?"

"I wanted to teach him a lesson," Gure said gravely. "I . . . it went too far. I didn't know-"

"_What did you do to him?"_ she screamed, making the little alien flinch.

Trunks powered up his attack but he was distracted by the knowledge of who his target was and because of that, he hesitated for perhaps a fraction of a second too long. Vegeta cleared the distance between them in that span of time and caught him by the neck. It was a grim reminder just how fast the older Saiyan was in comparison to his hybrid son. "Dad, you gotta chill out-" Trunks choked out, gripping the arm that was holding him. It felt like forged steel.

Staring at him blankly, Vegeta was about to throw him to the ground when his battle sense screamed that a new intruder had appeared directly behind him. He released the boy and ducked just as a double-handed fist sailed over the space where his head had been a second before.

"Huh. I guess there's more to it than just a sneak attack," Goku said mildly, blinking at the scene. "I sensed the power levels and decided to- _Holy crow!"_

"Look out!" Trunks called out, gripping his throat and coughing from the strain

Vegeta channeled the displaced power of his aborted Final Flash into a Galactic Gun blast that he threw towards the new intruder. Goku, not yet powered up to match that energy level, barely managed to punch out in time and drive the deadly salvo skywards so that the Capital would be unharmed. As it was, he badly burned his hand and shook it rapidly, blowing air on the blistered knuckles. "Hey! Calm down! What's wrong with you, Vegeta?"

The prince released an inarticulate growl as a response. He stared back at Goku with piercing teal eyes but he was barely registering the younger man's presence. His overactive mind was coping with flashbacks and the majority of his consciousness was still a prisoner on Planet number 32. He wasn't just seeing Goku, he was seeing Zarbon and Dodoria. At the worst of it, he was seeing Frieza and that was driving him down deeper into unresponsive madness.

Bulma walked over to Gure and spun her around. "You take it back," she hissed, shaking the little alien. "Whatever you did to him, you take it back right now!"

"I-I forced him relive a memory! I picked the one that was weighing heaviest on his mind. I didn't know it was s-so- terrible!" she said, on the verge of tears again.

"The one where Frieza told him about Tarble and his father?" Bulma asked. "You had him relive _that_ one all over again? How far did it go before you stopped it?"

"I didn't stop it," Gure whimpered. "I was too shocked. He managed to break free but . . ."

"Oh god," Bulma said sickly, staring up at the sky again.

Goku avoided a knee aimed for his ribs and reluctantly powered up. Something was off here; it didn't take a genius to figure out that it was probably tied in to all of the power fluctuations he had been sensing a few hours ago. Piccolo had called off the Z Fighters from interfering but it seemed the Namek had grossly underplayed the severity of the situation. Vegeta was cruising along on pure hate and his power was continuing to spiral up out of control. If the prince didn't regain some sense of focus quickly, he was going to explode just as he had done with Majin Buu.

Bracing himself for an incoming frontal attack, Goku captured a fist aimed for his Adam's apple and brought up a knee to block a kick to the groin. Vegeta was utilizing dirty fighting tactics, regressing back to hand-to-hand combat lessons he had learned as a soldier, and that was also out of character for him.

"I don't know what's wrong with you, but this isn't the place for it," Goku said levelly and instantly transported them where they would do the least amount of damage. For the third time in less than fifteen years, they emerged at their old battle site in the arid desert and faced off again as antagonists. "Calm down!"

Bringing them back here was poor planning on Goku's part, not knowing what Gure had just put the prince through. Vegeta now thought that he was trapped in another memory, this one of his first-ever, humiliating defeat, and it was too much input to process. He gripped his head and screamed until it felt as if his throat was bursting. His corona of power swept around him and created fissures in the ground. A crater burst out from around his feet, driven deep into the stone by displaced gravity and expanded outwards as his energy level skyrocketed.

Goku phased in and braced an arm around his neck, hoping to choke him into unconsciousness before he self-destructed. Vegeta's crazed screams were cut-off and he grasped the arm desperately, trying to break free. In the depths of his dementia, he imagined that it was Frieza's tail around his neck, choking him to death-

-and something in his mind finally clicked.

* * *

Next chapter: Everyone tries to deal with the aftermath of Gure's attack.


	7. Reparation

_Not good,_ Goku was thinking desperately. _This is not good at ALL!_

Shuddering against the waves of power radiating off of Vegeta's body, he struggled to maintain his chokehold. It wasn't easy. The smaller Saiyan was thrashing like crazy and his power was continuing to spiral out of control. Goku felt his exposed skin beginning to bake from the primal energies engulfing them. "Calm down, Vegeta! At this rate, you'll kill us both!"

Kicking out wildly, one foot connected with Goku's shin hard enough for him to weaken his hold. Gasping for breath, Vegeta released a desperate pressure wave that blew the other Saiyan backwards. Goku collided with a mountain butte, destroying it into a pile of rubble, and lay stunned for a few seconds, marveling at the intensity of power being released from the Saiyan prince. He hadn't encountered anything quite like it. Not since Vegeta had turned Majin and surprised him by matching him blow for blow. His senses were screaming danger and he quickly climbed out of the stone pile. When he looked up, any words of potential logic failed him completely.

Hovering in the air like a glowing god of battle, Vegeta was looking around his surroundings like someone waking up out of a terrible dream. His golden spikes had lengthened into a resplendent blond mane that reached the backs of his knees, almost like a cape of purest spun gold. He was looking down at his hands in disbelief, sensing something had happened but not quite sure what it was. Noticing Goku's stunned expression, he stammered, "I- Kakarrot . . . what-?" His eyes rolled back into his head and he lost his grasp on that miraculous transformation, falling to the ground in his base form, unconscious.

Goku barely managed to overcome his paralysis in time and catch him. He stared at his old rival with new-found respect. "Huh," he said, smiling.

* * *

It was early in the afternoon of the following day when Tarble roused from a drug-induced slumber and raised his head to slowly look around. He didn't feel quite so sore as he had the day before and felt only a mild pulling sensation when he slowly sat up in bed. He reached around to the small of his back and felt a heavy bandage there. It was going to take some time to get used to not having a tail, he mused, but he didn't think he would overly miss it. The slightest pressure on the appendage had always pained him and altering his wardrobe to accommodate it had been a bothersome chore. Now he was even closer to being accepted among Gure's people.

_I gave you what you wanted. Now you're no longer a Saiyan, _Vegeta had told him and he winced at the memory, cringing in shame. He had said such horrible things about the Saiyan people, voicing a disparaging opinion with absolutely no knowledge or experience behind his words. He had behaved like a racist. Small wonder his brother had been so upset. Tarble wasn't quite sure if the forced transformation to the great ape form had been a gift or a punishment, probably a mixture of both. He had shape shifted and felt what it was like as a true Saiyan for the first time in his life only to have that forever wrenched away with the loss of his tail. He was now closer to Vegeta than the older Saiyan could have ever dreamed possible, because now Tarble knew exactly how the prince felt: Yearning for one form that offered absolute power and freedom but trapped in the shell of another.

He eased himself carefully down to the floor and held onto the bed as he corrected his balance. Yes, it was going to take some getting used to but at least the pain had diminished. There was a high-pitched trill and Gure came trotting over from where she had been dozing in her chair. "Beloved! How are you?"

"Sore, but otherwise not too bad, all things considered," he responded honestly, bending down slowly to hug her. "I hope I didn't worry you."

His wife didn't want to let him go. "Oh, I was so scared! It was worse than that, Tarble. I-I got angry."

He pulled back and stared at her in shock. "You did? At who?"

"Your brother. He hurt you, Tarble. Worse still, he changed you. Your dreams now are so terrifying, they're almost more than I can bear. While the healer worked on you I confronted him." She dropped her voice to a confiding whisper and admitted, "I attacked him."

Tarble leaned weakly against the bed, running a hand through his hair and down the side of his face. "Show me what happened," he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral and closed his eyes to the mental display of what happened the previous night. None of it was any good: Neither Gure's unusual emotional state or Vegeta's retaliation. The small Saiyan was actually loathed to pick a side in this particular confrontation; fortunately, Gure was more than willing to shoulder the blame.

"What he endured . . ." the small female said miserably. "It went far beyond torture. In my anger, I threw him into it all over again. I-I think I broke him."

"Gure, you have to make this right," he said calmly.

She was shaking her head and he took her by the shoulders and insisted, "You have to fix this. You have the power-"

"I can't undo something that he's already experienced-"

"You said it's been weighing on his mind ever since we arrived. Is there any way you can make him forget about it?"

"I don't know if that's possible. He was so out of control!"

"He's capable of reason," he murmured, gently stroking her round cheek. "Your people proved that to me long ago."

She stared up at his face, looking into his brown eyes for a long while, studying him with all of her straining senses. Finally, the tension in her tiny body eased at long last. With a sound like a sigh, she whispered with relief, "You're still my Tarble."

That brought an unexpected burst of laughter out of him. "Of course I am! Who else would I be?"

"Him," she said, not sharing in his humor. "His soul is unclean. I feared that he had contaminated you with the taint of who and what he is."

With a shock, Tarble realized what he was hearing coming out of his beloved wife's mouth were the words Vegeta had heard coming out of his own; Ignorance. Hatred. Again, he was beginning to get a grasp on how his older sibling had felt listening to the verbal attack. Very carefully, he asked, "And what, dear heart, is Vegeta?"

"A man of darkness. Of prideful violence. The dark prince of a populace that should never have existed," she responded automatically.

He drew a little away from her, hating to hear those words, his words, coming out of her mouth. "You're speaking of the Saiyans," he said softly. "You are speaking of my people, Gure. Please take care."

"But you-"

"I know what I used to say and think, but that time's passed." He paused and considered the events of the night before, of witnessing that glowing orb in the sky and feeling his body suffused with immense carefree power and vitality. "I guess I have changed, but it's not a bad thing. Not really." He offered her a strained smile. "A man deserves to know his true origins, even if that truth is forced on him. Don't you think so?"

Gure said nothing.

* * *

Vegeta was sitting on the roof of the Capsule Corp. building, his knees pulled up to his chest and his chin resting on them as he brooded. It was raining but he didn't care. The weather served to keep him isolated, blurring his surroundings around him so that he didn't have to be distracted by movement or interruption-

"Feeling any better, Vegeta?" a voice asked behind him.

Well, almost no interruption.

Goku hadn't moved far from his side since the moment he had first woken up in the infirmary. Vegeta had been highly agitated, practically jumping out of his skin when he heard any sound, and his usual aggravation over being touched had become an almost rampant phobia. All that he had wanted, needed, was space and fresh air. Being up on the roof lessened his anxiety but as he began to come to terms with what had occurred last night, he could feel himself slipping back into the peaceful oblivion of shock. He wasn't so sure if it was necessarily a bad thing.

"It really happened," he muttered for the third or fourth time. Goku had since lost count.

"Yep."

"Super Saiyan level three."

"That's right."

"It wasn't a dream."

"Nope. You really did it. Congratulations!"

Vegeta lapsed back into silence again, not sharing the good cheer. Not feeling it, even though he had spent the last two years practically killing himself to achieve that next stage of ascension. Goku, his eternal rival and meddlesome ally, had reached it years before in the afterlife. Now, they were equally matched again. It should have been cause for celebration.

Instead, he felt absolutely nothing, barely able to process coherent thought. The rain soaked his clothes and wetted down his hair but he hardly felt it. After a long pause, he said again, "It really happened . . ."

Three levels down, Bulma was in the living room pacing back and forth. "You're sure that you're alright?" she asked Trunks, who was watching television. She hadn't let him go to school today and he was still lounging in his pajamas even though it was early in the afternoon.

The boy looked around at her and pulled a face. On his neck were several distinct bruises left by Vegeta's fingers. His voice was hoarse when he protested, "Mom! I told you, I'm fine. Goten's done far worse."

"Goten isn't your father," she said absently, wishing for a cigarette. She had quit that habit over seven years ago, but there were times of great stress when she lapsed. If this wasn't one of those days, she didn't know what else qualified. Her brother-in-law was recovering in the infirmary, her sister-in-law had proven to be a dangerous telepath, her only child had been injured by his father, and her husband was damn near catatonic. Oh, and she was close to losing her hair from all of the worrying. Don't forget Bulma here, folks! She was the only one of this peculiar little circle who didn't have powers and who seemed to be the only rational mind in the bunch!

"Wait'll I tell Goten what happened. Dad went Super Saiyan three! We can only do that when we fuse into Gotenks."

"I'm sure that Goten knows all about it by now," Bulma told him. Vegeta's power surge had attracted every single member of the Z Fighters to Capsule Corp. like a light bulb attracting moths. Even Android 18 had tagged along with Krillin to see what had happened and she usually kept her distance where the rest of them were concerned. By morning, the only one left was Goku, and he seemed to be the only person that Vegeta would allow to come near him.

As if on cue, Goku appeared in the living room, transported by his instant transmission. Dripping onto the carpet, he cast Bulma an imploring glance and she walked over and said in a low voice, "How is he?"

"He's acting really strange," the fighter admitted, scratching the back of his head in his trademark confused style. "He keeps repeating himself. I don't like it. What happened here last night?"

"Take me to him," she said instead.

"It's really pouring. You might want an umbrella."

For one of the rare times in her life, Bulma wasn't concerned about her hair or her clothes. "It's alright. Let's go."

The sense of teleportation was always a little disorientating and, compounded with the slant of the domed roof, Bulma felt dizzy with vertigo. She held onto Goku for a moment, adjusting her balance. It was raining very hard and it took her a moment to realize that the indistinguishable lump hunkered down a few meters away was her husband. Pushing away from her old friend, she tested her footing and found that when she took her shoes off, she had decent traction. "Come and get us in about ten minutes-"

"I'm not leaving you."

Bulma turned in surprise and saw Goku looking at her with worry in his normally easy-going face. "What?"

"He's not acting like himself, Bulma. I saw what he did to Trunks. He might knock you off the roof and nobody would be here to save you. I'm not leaving," he repeated stubbornly.

Her eyes softened. He had a valid point, although deep in her heart she knew that the moment of madness was over and Vegeta wouldn't hurt her. She didn't object and said instead, "Okay, just stay back and keep your ears plugged. This is a very private conversation."

"Sure, no problem," he said amiably enough and stuck his fingers in his ears and backed up so far she thought he was going to topple over the side. He stood at an insane angle and waited.

Careful of her footing on the slick surface, Bulma walked over until she was about three feet from the silent Saiyan and then sat down beside him. "Vegeta."

He visibly flinched and spared her a furtive, miserable glance. His wet hair was hanging in his eyes, softening the haggard mask of his pale face. As usual, whenever she caught him in a moment of weakness, his response was automatic and this time was no different. "I'm fine," he rasped.

"No, you're not. Gure told me what she did," Bulma said, sliding over a centimeter at a time, trying not to be obvious about it. "She sent you back. To that terrible time in Frieza's office. It happened to you all over again."

He looked away. "I know it wasn't real. I know that. It wasn't real. I keep trying to tell myself that it wasn't real." He grabbed his head and burrowed his fingernails into the scalp. "It wasn't real!" he screamed.

"It'll be all r-" she reached out to touch him and he batted her hand away, baring his teeth. In the background, Goku straightened and began walking towards them but she held up a hand in his direction, an unspoken gesture not to interfere. "It'll be all right," she said again in a calm voice. "You'll overcome this like you've overcome everything else. Frieza is long dead. He can't hurt you anymore."

". . . No? I'm not so sure because he's still in here-" He hit himself on the forehead with a closed fist hard enough to leave a mark. "And I can't get him out!"

Bulma looked at her suffering husband and bit her lower lip. Words weren't going to accomplish anything here. He was too deeply in shock to respond to reason. She decided to resort to a different tactic.

She punched him in the face as hard as she could.

Her dainty fist connected soundly with his nose and he blinked in surprise. ". . . the _fuck?" _he said in a stunned voice.

"That's more like it," Bulma said with satisfaction, shaking her aching hand. Punching him had been like hitting granite and she was sure she had the bruised knuckles to show for it, but if it roused him out of his shock then it was worth it.

"Shit, I actually felt that." He rubbed his nose and stared at her warily. The cold detachment had left his eyes, she noticed, and some color was starting to return to his face.

"Do you feel better now?"

He glowered at her. "That was a cheap shot, woman."

"Oh, quit your bitching. I had to do it. You were starting to worry me there for a minute." She touched his shoulder and he permitted the contact, although the cords of his neck visibly tightened with growing tension. "It's time to come inside and get out of those wet clothes."

He appeared to consider that for a moment and then got slowly to his feet. As he collected his bearings, he seemed to remember something and looked at her urgently. "Trunks! Is he alright?"

"He'll be fine," she said as her answer. "What happened wasn't your fault."

His face darkened alarmingly. "Gure. She did this! She-"

"Not now!" Bulma barked and got no pleasure in the way that the Saiyan winced from the strident quality of her voice. No, he wasn't quite one hundred percent yet. Why should he be? Thanks to Gure acting under the delusion that she was defending her ailing mate, she had attacked Vegeta by making him endure one of his worst memories all over again; the one where he had been sodomized by Frieza's tail. It had almost damn near killed him.

Even now he was looking down at himself, as if expecting the lower half of his body to be covered in blood. When Goku came over and joined them, he drew distrustfully away from the other Saiyan's extended hand.

Goku seemed puzzled by his behavior. "I was just going to transport you inside out of this rain," he said in a hurt voice.

"I know the way," Vegeta growled and dropped down over the side of the building to fly to his bedroom.

"Don't take it personal," Bulma said, brushing the wet hair out of her eyes. "He went through a lot of crap last night."

"I was hoping that the reunion would be going better than this. I'm sorry to see that it isn't."

"Not all brothers are like Gohan and Goten."

"They're not, huh?"

"No, sometimes they're more like . . . you and Radditz."

The friendly concern disappeared from the fighter's face and tightened up in a mixture of anger and anguish. The thought of his brother's death, and the part he had played in it, often haunted him, making him wonder that there might have been another way to have resolved the conflict to a more amicable conclusion. Peace was the very definition of Goku's personality. Radditz had been the antithesis of that: Just raw, consummate violence.

Understanding that, he began to get a grasp of the conflict existing between Tarble and Vegeta; another pair that were polar opposites of each other. "Oh," was all he could say on the matter. He grabbed Bulma's shoulder and they materialized back in the living room a few seconds later. Tarble and Gure had since joined Trunks and all three looked upset.

"What's going on?" Bulma asked with dread, privately wondering what Vegeta might have done now.

"Gure wants us to leave," Tarble said apologetically, barely able to meet the heiress's furious gaze. He was wearing a robe and barely able to straighten up all the way because of his back but all of his attention was focused on his distressed mate.

"Is that a fact?" Bulma said, glaring at the little alien.

Gure said, "I think it is for the best."

"When you fix what you've done, I'll shoot you out into space myself."

"As I've told Tarble, it's not so easy as that-"

"Then you're staying right here!" she shouted, closing the distance between them. "Your space pods will stay under lock and key until you undo the damage you've caused. You hear me?"

The first hints of anger were starting to cross the alien's round face again. "You would keep us prisoners?"

Bulma bent over until their faces were mere inches apart. "What're you going to do about it? Lose your temper again and torture me like you did Vegeta? Go right ahead if it'll make you feel any better. In fact, I dare you. Take your best shot!"

Gure blinked as if coming out of a spell. "I didn't torture- I didn't mean to-to-"

"You tortured him. You'd best wrap your benevolent, peaceful little brain around that fact because that's precisely what you did. You think you're the only wife here eager to defend her husband? Sister, you've got _nothing _on me in the revenge department! Just try me."

"Wow mom," Trunks was marveling from his place on the couch. "Cool."

Both aliens blinked at this sudden tirade. _Is she bluffing? _Tarble asked with concern.

Gure delicately touched minds with Bulma and all she saw were staggering blueprints of potential weapons flashing across the woman's consciousness ready to be built at a moment's notice: Telepathic blockers, energy-leeching shackles, bizarre cages. She pulled out of that raging mind quickly. _No,_ she replied, badly shaken from the contact. Vegeta's mind typically radiated barely restrained violence, but Bulma's brilliant, methodical mind was currently compounded by her indignant rage. There wasn't anything the woman couldn't build to get her necessary revenge. _Our only recourse is to cooperate._

"What's it going to be?" Bulma asked. She was dangerously poised to march down to her lab and get to work.

Gure considered the situation for a moment. "Tarble and I talked the matter over earlier. I might be able to make what happened . . . fade into the background. To become less prominent in his memory."

"Do it." There was no appeal in Bulma voice, just "or else" implied at the end of the sentence that remained unspoken between them.

"It's not so easy as that. There's no way that he'll ever permit me to get close enough to help. He hates me!"

_I wonder why?_ Bulma thought, her hands on her hips. She wasn't without accepting her own guilt in this matter. In hindsight, if she had known what a mess this was all going to turn into, she would have insisted the pair stay at a hotel just like Vegeta had wanted in the first place. Since she had been the one to put this all into motion, she now had to make damn sure that things were put back to rights. She wanted her husband back, sane and whole. _Well, as sane and whole as that surly rogue actually is, anyway,_ she amended privately. "You leave that to me," she said. "I'll let you know when the time is right."

She turned to look at Goku who had yet to leave and was watching them curiously. "Care to stay for a little while longer? I might just need you in case things don't quite work out."

His eyes brightened. If there was anything that the fighter liked to do most, it was help people and Bulma and Vegeta were among his list of favorites. (Besides, he was getting awfully sick and tired of hearing Chi Chi's endless complaining about Abo and Cado's antics around the farm.) "Sure! Heck, I'll even spend the night if you need me, Bulma."

The enthusiasm caught her off-guard but not for long. During stressful times like these, she was grateful for her old friend's presence. "We'll see. For now, go find something to eat in the kitchen while I get you some dry clothes."

"Oh, that'd be great. I'm awfully hungry," the younger man said and began stripping off his wet clothes as he left the room. By the time he reached the kitchen, he was bare-assed naked. "Hi guys!" he greeted the stunned chef and his two assistants as he walked past them and opened up one of the refrigerators to peer inside. "What'cho got to eat?"

The trio regarded one another for a few seconds and then went about their usual business of preparing a meal for the new arrival, all without comment. Over the course of working for the unusual Briefs family, they had seen sights far stranger than this one.

Upstairs, Vegeta changed out of his clothes but he was a basket case and couldn't stop pacing back and forth as he fretted over what had happened over the last fifteen hours: He had ascended to Super Saiyan three. That was good. He had nearly broken Trunks neck. That was bad. He had . . . No, _Frieza _had-

Oh, that was _terrible._

"It wasn't real," he muttered and dug his nails into his scalp again as he grappled with his failing sanity. "Gure fucked with my memory, that's all. It happened over thirty years ago. Thirty years! It's nothing new. Get out of my head!"

There was a soft rap of knuckles on the door and he turned towards it, snarling. When Bulma poked her head in, he calmed. A little. "How are you doing, honey?" she asked sweetly.

"I'm fine," came the automatic response.

"Oh, that's a relief. I'm making milkshakes for everyone. What flavor do you want?"

"What?" He blinked at her in disbelief. Was she seriously asking about milkshakes at a time like this? Just who was the crazy one here?

"Vanilla, chocolate, or strawberry. What'll it be?"

"I . . ."

"Hurry up! The ice cream's melting!"

"I don't . . . Strawberry?"

"Coming right up." She blew him a kiss and left.

Vegeta was left staring helplessly at the door, completely at a loss.

Goku was happily stuffing his face while he watched Bulma operate the blender. She had originally intended to make a milkshake for Trunks to soothe his sore throat. Then she realized she could nail two birds with one stone.

"Since when does dad drink strawberry shakes?" Trunks asked, scowling as she dropped two spoonfuls of the bright pink dessert into the blender along with a copious amount of strawberry jam. She wanted it to be as sickeningly sweet as possible. She added a dollop of 20 percent cream and then mixed it all together. "He just picked the first thing that came to mind, honey. It's a better choice than his usual coffee ice cream, wouldn't you say?"

"I'll drink to that," Goku shocked them both by saying and chugged down half of his chocolate shake.

"Go take these to uncle Tarble and aunt Gure," she said, handing the boy two small vanilla shakes. The instant he left the kitchen, she pulled a small bottle out of her coat pocket.

"What've you got there?" Goku asked, walking over and watching her curiously.

"It's called Elalival," she said, pulling out the stopper and dispensing several drops into Vegeta's milkshake. "It's a sedative that my father used when he had his dinosaurs relocated to the refuge."

"It's for dinosaurs?"

"Keep your voice down!" Bulma hissed at him, mixing it all together with a spoon. "It's really for tranquilizing elephants. Three drops will knock Vegeta out for the entire night."

"Jeez, that's really a mean trick, Bulma . . ."

"Do you know any other method of getting Gure near him? You think he's going to be able to go to sleep anytime soon?" she asked. "I want this fixed quickly before there's any lasting damage, Goku. Besides, it's not the first time I've had to use this. It'll work. Trust me."

He puzzled over what she had told him, but the last part was true; he did trust her. Body and soul. He decided to leave it at that. "Do you need me to come with you?"

"Not yet. Give me an hour," she said and took the drink upstairs to their bedroom.

She found Vegeta outside on the balcony. He wasn't on his usual perch and, instead, was seated in the far corner, his head in his hands. It was still raining and a mist was rising from the compound lawn and surrounding city, transforming the sights into a surreal tableau. She placed the strawberry shake down on the table beside him and then leaned over the railing. "I love how the air smells when it rains. There's a salty hint to it, you know? It smells like the ocean."

Vegeta didn't comment. He couldn't give a rat's ass about the air or the ocean, lost to the whirling chaos of his thoughts. His eyes eventually fell on the nearby glass and he frowned at the frothy pink liquid as if unable to identify it. While Bulma rambled on about the city, he sniffed it cautiously and then took a tentative suck on the straw. The overpowering sweetness that slammed against his taste buds actually helped to knock back some of his despair and he consumed the beverage eagerly. For the next three minutes, all he had to worry about was getting an ice cream headache. Once he was finished, however, the memories came back with a vengeance.

Bulma looked at him over her shoulder, hoping he wouldn't have to deal with them for very much longer.

He was unconscious less than a half hour later and, with Goku's help, they carried him over to the bed. The younger Saiyan was clearly upset when he looked down at his stricken friend. "I really don't feel good about this, Bulma."

"I know. I don't, either." She sat next to her husband and ran her hand gently back and forth through his mane. Even drugged, he was still twitching uneasily in his sleep.

"But you've done it before?"

"Yes, but not with him."

Goku frowned at her. "You didn't? But you said-"

"I said that I've had use this drug before, and that's the truth. " She fixed him with a regretful stare. "On you."

"What?"

"It's when you were suffering from the heart disease. You were in agony. Normal sedatives weren't working and we all knew how you react to needles. It was the only way that you could get any rest. I gave this tranquilizer to Chi Chi to use on you until the medicine Mirai Trunks gave you worked. That's how I found out that three drops works on Saiyans."

The fighter scratched his chest uneasily, remembering that terrible pain and the awful nightmares. He had never experienced anything so traumatic before or since. "Oh gosh, I guess I should thank you then."

She spared him a small smile, privately marveling that he could actually be grateful for being used as a guinea pig. She and Chi Chi had tried several other drug combinations on him before discovering that Elalival was the most effective and easy to administer. Saiyans were practically immune to just about any other forms of sedation and Bulma had wanted something in reserve for those "just in case" emergencies.

She looked down at her ailing husband. If this wasn't one of those times, nothing was. "Go tell Gure that we're ready for-"

_Pop!_ Gure appeared beside the bed.

"Oh wow," Goku said with a grin. "Did you learn Instant Transmission from Yardrat, too?"

The little alien blinked at him. "Learn what from who?"

"Later," Bulma said, getting them back on track. "I want this mess sorted out first."

"As I've said, I can't make him forget the memory entirely," Gure said, running her tiny fingers along Vegeta's temple. "But I've been thinking that I might be able to rewrite it."

"Rewrite it how?"

"He is accustomed to trauma. There's nothing I can do about past events. This particular memory stood out for-" she paused, glancing over at Goku before dropping her voice to a conspiring whisper, "-for a number of varying reasons, the revelation of Tarble's existence notwithstanding. I can make that the dominant occurrence and change all the rest."

Bulma pounced on that without hesitation. "Do it."

* * *

_Slouching in the chair of Frieza's office on Planet #32, Vegeta considered the information that he'd received as his fifteenth-year birthday present: A father's betrayal, a devious clone, a bodyguard's deception. His mind was whirling with anger when he got to his feet, walking stiffly over to where he'd set down his cape. "Are we done here, Lord Frieza?"_

_The pale alien regarded him with disdain. "Of course we are, stupid monkey. I have matters of far greater importance to attend to here than waste any more of my precious time with the likes of _you_. Get out of my sight."_

_"Thank you, milord," the Saiyan said, unusually relieved for no clear reason that he could put a finger to. When he exited the office, he stood outside of the doors for a moment, his brows furrowed in thought. _Something's different, _he thought_. I don't know how, but something's suddenly changed-

_"Look at that, Dodoria," came Zarbon's snide comment in the background. "The brat prince has apparently forgotten where he's going."_

_"Heh. You're a little early for senility, kid."_

_Without turning around, Vegeta formed two small ki disks in either hand and flicked them backwards. Both thumped into the walls less than an inch below each of the lieutenant's respective crotches. Rather than gloat over the expressions of stunned shock on their faces, he pelted off down the corridor at a mad sprint, grinning despite their angry shouts of future retribution. It was rare any time he managed to surprise the two brutes so he relished whatever small victory he could get._

_Choosing the better part of valor, he decided that it would be wise to lay low for awhile and flew out to the shanty town that lay beyond the base limits. He wanted to talk to Nappa anyway, although he doubted he would find the man in a coherent state. Nappa took his rare shore leaves seriously and did everything to excess: drink, eat, and screw. Radditz was different only in the order of preferences so he was surprised to find the both of them in the first bar he entered. They were seated in a corner stall, with huge flagons of beer surrounding them and eating from a gigantic bowl filled with cooked balls of meat. At the smell of that delicious fare, all thought of interrogation immediately flew from the young Saiyan's mind._

_Radditz noticed him first and almost choked on a mouthful of beer. "Holy kruk'T! You actually came!"_

_Wiping his greasy mouth with one heavy forearm, Nappa immediately got to his feet and permitted the prince to slide into the stall before settling back into his place. "You don't usually join us, Vegeta. Why the change of heart?"_

_Grabbing double handfuls of meat, Vegeta ate for a few minutes and then said, "I might have . . . angered Zarbon and Dodoria so I thought it'd be best to hide out here for awhile."_

_Radditz immediately looked at him in horror. "What did you do?"_

_He told them about throwing the two balls of ki (but not the reason he was there in the first place) and then added, "I almost gelded them."_

_"I didn't think it was possible to geld dickless people," Nappa said in a serious tone. _

_There was a moment of silent deliberation before all three burst out laughing._

_By late afternoon Vegeta had a full stomach and was cruising along on a nice, mellow buzz, both states being extremely rare for him. He caught a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye and watched a barmaid cater to a table filled with raucous soldiers. She had a pale grey skin tone that seemed to compliment her bright orange mane which she wore tied into a braid that ended at the small of her back. She was wearing a form-fitting blue dress that left little to the imagination. _

_"Who's that?" he asked Radditz, nodding in her direction._

_"Dunno. New hire for sure," the soldier responded, checking her out. He broke out into a raunchy grin. "Perhaps it's time I introduced myself-" he began rising out of his seat._

_Vegeta grabbed his shoulder guard and hauled him back. "I saw her first," he said and vaulted over the table to go talk to her._

_"Since when has he had any interest in barmaids?" Nappa asked curiously and was met with a disgruntled shrug from his cohort._

_Intercepting her at the bar, Vegeta hopped up on one of the stools so that he could look at her at eye level. "That color looks really good on you. But then, so would I."_

_The woman passed her drink order to the bartender and then leveled a glare at the Saiyan. "Seriously, that has to be the lamest pick-up line in the universe. What are you? Twelve? Did your father and brother put you up to this?" she nodded to the table where Nappa and Radditz sat, watching them with bright interest._

_Vegeta barely heard any of this. He had always been a breast enthusiast and was stunned to realize that this woman had four of them. Any lingering thoughts about Tarble's existence went entirely out of his mind. He had to clear his throat to force out, "We're not related. I'm their prince. I imagine you've heard of me. I'm Prince Vegeta."_

_She looked entirely unimpressed. "Nope."_

_"The scourge of the Seventh system?"_

_"No, sorry."_

_"The one responsible for the destrustion of Citi Alpha VI?"_

_She was shaking her head._

_"I'm a Saiyan, for kruk'T's sake!" he brought his fist down on the bar hard enough to make the glasses on the counter jump. "You must have heard of us!"_

_She regarded him seriously for a moment. "I thought you guys were taller."_

_"Believe me, I'm taller when I'm lying down." He pulled his tail between his legs and stretched it straight out, flashing her a leering smile._

_Rolling her eyes, the barmaid retrieved her drink-filled tray and turned her back on him to deliver the orders. "Oh, happy birthday to me," he hummed under his breath, watching the shapely mounds of her attractive behind jiggle as she walked. He trailed along after her like a young hound on a scent. _

That was generally the stage for the rewrite of Vegeta's memory; all specifically catered to the young Saiyan's disposition of the time. He remained with Nappa and Radditz for the rest of those two days. He ate, he drank, and he bantered with the pretty barmaid (but never managed to bed her. Her presence in the memory had been to act as a distraction to keep Vegeta's mind from dwelling on the changes Gure was making, and it seemed to work very well) until shore leave was over and things went back on track. Even through Nappa's beating and the events thereafter, he lacked the savage determination and self-loathing that had originally guided his course. And once he had left Gure's world, there had been no preoccupation with suicide or what would happen to him for going AWOL. He only knew he would be beaten and that was precisely what happened.

_When the alien brutes known as Zarbon and Dodoria were finished, they dragged Vegeta into Frieza's office and dropped him at the tyrant's feet. Frieza was smiling when he gripped his jaw and stared into his battered and bloody face, asking, "Did you find Tarble?"_

_"Y-yes, milord."_

_"Did you kill him?"_

_Vegeta answered without hesitation. "Yes, milord."_

Gure was stunned. She had not seen the ending to this memory and had not known of the desperate lie that had served to protect Tarble's existence. Despite enduring a torture that would have driven most people insane, Vegeta had protected his younger brother to the bitter end.

While Bulma and Goku watched the little alien work her powerful psionics on Vegeta, they exchanged a puzzled glance at the tears that suddenly spilled out of her closed eyes and coursed down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she was sobbing under her breath. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know. Thank you . . . Thank you so much for protecting my beloved."

Frieza was going to mete out his usual brand of depraved punishment but, again, Gure intervened; this time changing events to a beating. For this memory to successfully fade to the background, it had to be as unremarkable as possible and, sadly, for Vegeta beatings were simply a matter of course. She mourned that she was unable to do that with all of his sexual assaults but there were just too many of them for her to sort through, and to even make the attempt could possibly turn him into a completely different person, for good or ill. It wasn't her place to do that.

_I'm sorry,_ she thought again, ending her involvement in the memory when Vegeta was finally placed into a regeneration chamber. She pulled out of the horror show that was his mind and stood beside the bed, watching him as he slept with troubled eyes.

"Well?" Bulma said impatiently.

". . . It is done. I think he will better for it."

"You think? Don't you know for sure?"

"He is also a telepath, Bulma. Despite being drugged into unconsciousness, he knew something was wrong even while I was changing things. I was very careful but he still might detect my tampering when he wakes up. In answer to your question . . . No, I don't know for sure."

Bulma ran a hand through his hair noticing that he seemed to have slipped into a deeper sleep and wasn't twitching anymore. She hoped it was a good sign. "We'll play the waiting game," she whispered, speaking more to him than to the others. "It's not as if we haven't been through it before. Right, tough guy?" She kissed his cheek. "Sleep . . . and forget all about-"

_"What's wrong with you?" _

_Vegeta was in the back alley of the bar, leaning against the wall and staring up at the stars. He barely registered that the barmaid had joined his side and was now looking at him curiously. When he brought his head around, he found he was eye-level with her gravity-defying breasts and he had to blink for a moment to get his thoughts back on track. "Something's not right. This is all wrong," he tried to explain._

_"Is it so bad?" she asked, her head cocked to the side._

_"It's-" Her eyes, he noticed, were a piercing blue that matched her dress. They took his breath away and he barely managed to get out, ". . . No. It's not bad, but-"_

_"Ah, there you go again," she said with a laugh. "Back to butts. You naughty boy."_

_His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I'm not a boy! I'm a man where it counts!" The protest wasn't helped as his voice broke at the end. He cursed bitterly._

_"Yeah, right," she said and turned her back on him to go inside._

_He could have sworn that she was adding an extra wiggle to her hips now that she knew his eyes were on her. Despite the teasing, he hesitated resuming the chase. In the back of his mind, he heard a voice say: _She's just a diversionary tactic to get your mind off of it, you know.

Off of what? _He countered, but there was no answer. Because of that, he remained where he was and didn't budge, not even when the barmaid poked her head out of the door and asked when he was coming back inside. He drew distrustfully away from her, saying nothing. Things he normally dismissed were catching his notice and adding to his growing confusion. This had to be the best smelling alley he had ever stood in. It had the aroma of flowers instead of stale urine. Why were there no drunken soldiers brawling in the street? Since when did the bar play music (and good music, at that)? And why had he never noticed just how vibrant the stars were before?_

_He came very close to ripping his way through the illusion when Radditz and Nappa appeared, as if by magic. "Ah! There you are!" his huge body guard shouted._

Don't react. They're not real_, Vegeta thought, staring at them through narrowed eyes._

_Radditz was waving his hand up and down in front of his face. "Hey, you okay?" _

_He batted it away. "Leave me alone."_

_"Uh oh, someone's had too much to drink," Nappa said with a smirk."I told you that second bottle would be too much. But did you listen to me? Nooo-"_

_"Shut up!"_

_Radditz laughed. "We'll just tell Cui that you're in no shape. No problem."_

_The mere mention of his hated rival immediately snapped him out of his suspicious state. "Cui? He's here?"_

_"Yep!" The shaggy-haired fighter cocked his thumb over his shoulder. "He wants to arm wrestle you. He's bragging to everyone that he's stronger than-"_

_"Sonovabitch," Vegeta hissed and stormed back inside._

_Cui was the same age as the Saiyan prince and it made for constant squabbling as the two vied to be the one with greater power and strength. The amphibious alien boasted a higher ki reading but Vegeta was damned if Cui was going to be stronger than him as well. He was prepared to let his arm rip free from his shoulder just to prove it. _

_As things turned out, it didn't come to that. The other soldier was even more drunk than the Saiyans were and could barely manage the coordination to raise his arm for the match. Vegeta trounced him soundly, rapping the alien's hand down into the stone top of the bar so hard it cracked. So did Cui's hand. The small Saiyan relished the shrieks of agony as Cui gripped his wrist and ran out of the bar._

_"Nicely done," Nappa said, slapping him on the back._

_Vegeta immediately rounded on him, bracing his elbow on the counter. "Your turn," he said, grinning madly._

_As the huge bodyguard sweat-dropped, Radditz began collecting bets among the gathered onlookers. By the end of the evening, they had made enough money to stay in town and continue their revelry until they were due back on base. By that time, the barmaid seemed to be close to giving in to Vegeta's constant advances._

_"When you get another shore leave, you can tell me all about it. In private," she told him as dawn broke over the barren ruins of Planet #32 and the trio of hung-over Saiyans were leaving the bar in preparation for the return trek to base._

_"There's no guarantee we'll be back to this world," Vegeta said with a trace of impatience in his voice. He was frustrated as hell that he hadn't managed any head-way with this woman (or gotten any head either, if the truth be known). "Perhaps you could give me a private send off?" According to his scouter he still had seven minutes before being officially back on duty. He figured in his present state all he needed was six._

_The pale beauty wasn't haven't any of it. "Nice try, prince."_

_"At least tell me your damned name!" he huffed. For the last two days she had managed to keep that hidden from him as well. At this point in time, he was willing to get any small victory he could scrounge._

_"I don't need to tell you," she said in a husky voice. She took his face in her hands and suddenly kissed him, doing a slow and thorough job of it. The kiss was chaste and seductive and Vegeta surrendered to it completely. Her tongue poked out, forcing his lips apart to graze against his in a teasing dance before she finally pulled away and smiled at him. "You already know who I am."_

_The barmaid had changed into Bulma._

* * *

Next: The final chapter.


	8. Family Matters

With a gasp, Vegeta sat up in bed and stared blankly around the room before his surroundings came into focus. He realized that he was home. Capsule Corp. His bedroom. The curtains were drawn and the blinds across the balcony were pulled closed but, judging by the slants of sunlight that peeked through, it had to be late in the morning. A glance at Bulma's alarm clock confirmed his suspicions. It was 9:32 a.m.

_Shit, I've been asleep for over fourteen hours?_ He couldn't remember a time when he'd ever managed more than six.

"Rip van Winkle finally awakens," Bulma's voice carried over and he saw she was seated in the divan beside her vanity, typing on her laptop. She pulled out the ear buds to an iPod and got to her feet. "How do you feel?"

"What? I guess I feel . . ." The word 'good' was poised on his tongue but he didn't say it out loud. It wasn't a word he could ever recall using before this morning but it seemed to go along with the odd detachment of his thoughts. While he was trying to puzzle it out, he was interrupted by a hearty gale of her laughter.

"I see that you must have had a great dream," she said, giggling.

"What the hell are you-" he looked down and saw that he had an erection tenting the blanket at his waist. "Oh, grow up," he grumbled and made as graceful an exit to the bathroom as was possible under the circumstances.

When she heard the shower start running, Bulma sat down on the edge of the bed as if the strength had gone out of her legs. She hadn't caught more than a few hours of sleep all through the night, interrupted by Vegeta's restless thrashing or the odd muttered word. Both were usually normal for him but knowing what he had gone through, and having no clear understanding of precisely what Gure had done to his mind, she had worried herself into a frenzy. This morning she was relieved to see that he seemed to be right back to his usual surly self.

She was waiting for him when he emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later. He stood in the doorway with a towel around his slender waist and was rubbing another through his heavy mane. "What happened to me last night?"

Very carefully, she countered with, "How much do you remember?"

His brows furrowed in thought. "I forced an Oozaru change on Tarble and his mate attacked me. I remember that much. I could have sworn I went Super Saiyan three . . ." he looked at her doubtfully.

"Yes, you did."

"Hnh. I'll be damned," he betrayed a slight smile before it faded. "Ascensions like that are created out of extreme emotional states. I don't remember getting upset. I don't remember . . ." There it was again. That sensation of calm that interrupted the normally chaotic flow of his thoughts. It was as out of place as a sun blazing from the sky during night time. "Gure screwed with my mind," he said in a deadly calm voice. He spared Bulma a level stare. "Why?"

She regarded him calmly despite feeling chilled to the bone with the speed he had detected Gure's tampering. The little alien had warned her that he might have sensed it and, after lying awake for so many hours considering this very occurrence, Bulma figured she had her response all worked out. "Do you want to know?" she asked honestly. _"Really?"_

Silence fell between them as he worked it out in his mind, taking his time. Whatever had happened had been bad enough for him to lose complete control. He caught flashes of Gure's face and Bulma's and - _and-!_

His hand flashed up to his temple as if he'd been struck. _Trunks!_ _I hurt him. I hurt my son!_ He could envision his hand curled around the boy's throat and the child's pained thrashing beneath his tightening grip. Kakarrot had appeared and tried to restrain him, and in the conflict he had ascended to level three. After that, everything went alarmingly black. Yes, he remembered certain events but not the catalyst that had set it all into motion. When he tried to push it, all he got back was the memory of his two day shore leave on Planet #32. It had been one of his better times as a soldier and experiences like that had been few and far between.

_But it wasn't right. It just wasn't . . . right._ He looked up at Bulma. "Do you know?"

"If you told me then Gure must have taken that away from me, too," she responded. It was the truth, even though she had no clear recollection of when the tiny alien might have removed her knowledge of the specifics of Vegeta's pained memory. It made sense she supposed. If he had wanted to reclaim what had been lost, he could have simply taken it from her mind and the cycle would have potentially repeated itself. "Vegeta-"

He held up his hand, cutting off her words. _Do I really want to know what made me get so out of control? _he brooded, crossing his arms. He dropped his eyes to the floor, battling with his pride and his conscience. It was a bitter, inner conflict considering his pride, which had been at the forefront of his thoughts until all that Majin bullshit, had the most experience dictating his actions. Usually to catastrophic results. He struggled for several minutes before betraying a weary sigh, his rigid shoulders drooping in surrender.

"No," he finally muttered, more to himself than to her. "I . . . guess not."

She tried not to betray her extreme relief. She had hoped that he would be rational but hadn't counted on it. As usual he managed to surprise her. "I'm glad to see that you finally look well rested."

"I don't feel it," he responded, rubbing his neck. His entire body ached. "That stage three state seems to be different from the others. It took just about everything I had. Small wonder I was out of it for that length of time."

"Yeah, small wonder," she said neutrally. He seemed to be debating about whether to return to bed and she solved that by patting the area beside her. "Was it a good sleep? You were tossing and turning for most of the night."

He settled beside her and then stretched back, rubbing his face. "It was full of strange dreams, that's for sure. You were there."

That surprised her. "I was?"

"Yeah. You had four tits, though."

"Well, don't expect that to happen in reality," she mocked, tracing one of the scars on his stomach with a light finger. "What would have made you think about that?"

"It was a barmaid I'd met on Planet #32-"

Her face hardened. "I don't want to hear about any of your conquests-"

"It wasn't a fling. We never did it. I wanted to but I was just a dumb, horny kid and she-" He pulled a face. "I fed her every lame pick-up line in the book and she shot me down each and every time. I had no idea how pathetic my come-ons actually were. Until now. Crap . . ." He placed his hands over his eyes as if to block it all out.

"Oh come on," Bulma chided. "I dated Yamcha, remember? His lines were the absolute worst. How bad could yours be?"

He waggled his index finger in a "come closer" gesture. When she leaned over him, he whispered softly into her ear, "'Let me show you what I learned from Planet Cunnilingus'."

"Oh my _God!_" She fell backwards across the bed, shrieking with laughter.

"I told you," he said with a wry smile, watching her smother her mirth into the coverlet.

The laughter eventually passed and she looked up at him with bright color in her cheeks and kissed him. It was like the dream all over again only this time the woman was here in the flesh. Her mouth was open and waiting and he responded by deepening the kiss, a long and industrious fusing of lips and tongue. His strong arms encircled her and pulled her on top of him, keeping her close, not wanting to break the contact.

When they finally parted for air, she said breathlessly, "I'm so glad you're all right." She meant it in many different ways but it all amounted to the same thing; he was still the man she had married eight years ago: The villain turned hero, the loner turned family man. Her husband, lover, and best friend all rolled into one. He was safe and sane. And hers. "I love you, Vegeta."

"I never would have guessed," he parried and favored her with his patented smirk.

"You know what I'm going to do to you?"

"Surprise me."

She gusted softly into his ear, "I'm going to show you what I learned from Planet Fellatio."

Vegeta quickly discovered, to his extreme delight, that she'd learned quite a lot.

* * *

Snapping out of a troubled doze, Gure looked over at the far wall with her head cocked to the side and reached out with her psionics, evaluating what she felt. The rigid set of her spine gradually eased and she slumped back into her chair with a sigh of relief.

"Everything alright?" Tarble asked from his place on the bed. He was lying on his stomach with a heating pad over his lower back, reading through an enormous stack of glossy Earth magazines. The various cultures of Earth simply fascinated him but he found that he preferred to read about it than watch it all on the television. He had a hard time determining what was "reality" TV and what was make-believe.

"It is now," she said, sparing him a strained smile. Like Bulma, she had not slept well the entire night, although for different reasons. Like with the emotion of anger, she was ill-equipped to deal with the suffocating guilt for her past actions. She couldn't be at peace until she was sure that all was well. "Vegeta has accepted the memories I implanted. He's much calmer than before. His mind is finally at peace."

He smiled at his mate. "I never doubted you could do it for one second," he said proudly, extending his hand towards her.

She took it and he pulled her up on the bed. "So . . . what now?" he asked.

She blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Are you ready to return to your world?"

"Are _you?_" she whispered, trying desperately not to betray her eagerness.

Tarble didn't answer right away. Gure had told him what she had seen in Vegeta's memories: That the prince had purposely lied to Frieza and kept Tarble's identity a secret despite all of the horrors he had endured while under the tyrant's rule. Tarble had been touched, but hadn't been all that surprised. He had come to understand his brother better during their short, strained interactions and had made his own conclusions: Vegeta was conflicted and haunted, but he also possessed a humbling nobility that was inspiring. He was a man of great pride, tempered by his interaction with his Earth friends and family. Being on this planet brought out the best in him and that was the reason he stayed. He didn't need any reminders of his years in space; he had endured a lifetime of that barren harshness. Sadly, Tarble understood that he was just a relic of that old life and things would never really improve between them because of it. Too many years had passed by and now they were both too fully committed to their own unique lives to have any interest in the other's.

"Yes, I'm ready," he said, in answer to her question. He had thought that it would bother him to say it but was surprised to find that the words came out quite easily. His smile broadened, creating dimples in both cheeks. "I want to go home."

Gure hugged him, crying tears of joy.

* * *

"I'm gonna knock you out!" Trunks grunted, propelling his fist forward so fast it was a blur.

"No way!" Goku said, ducking and countering with an uppercut. "Take _that!_"

"Hah! Not even close!"

The pair were in the living room playing the boxing game on the family's Wii system. Bulma had redesigned the controllers to put up with the abuse of super-fast and strong hybrid children but hadn't accounted for a pure-blooded Saiyan adult. Goku ducked again, his eyes glued to the huge screen on the wall, and punched out with full strength. The remote snapped in half and took off like a bullet towards the couple who were coming downstairs.

"_Shit!"_ was all Vegeta had time to say before grabbing Bulma and forcing her down just as the remote sailed directly over her head. It smashed into the wall hard enough to disappear into the plaster. "Kakarrot! Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Oops. Sorry . . ."

Bulma stared in complete astonishment at the hole the remote had made. It had to be at least a foot deep. She raised a hand to her head just to make sure it was still attached to her shoulders. _Death by Wii,_ she was thinking numbly. _What a dumb way to die._

Trunks slapped Goku on the arm. "Great job! Now there's only one remote left. It's boring playing with just myself."

"I'll make you another," Bulma said when she'd composed herself. She made it to the landing and immediately flopped down into the nearest chair. She couldn't seem to stop staring at the hole.

"Can you do that right now?" Goku asked eagerly. "We don't have this game at home. It's great!"

Vegeta looked at his wife in exasperation. "Why is he still here?" he asked, as if the fighter wasn't standing just eight feet away.

"I was worried about you," Goku responded.

"He's been here since yesterday. He spent the night," she said and didn't add that Antony the chef, and both of his assistants, had asked her point-blank when her ravenous guest would be leaving. After serving him just one supper and a breakfast, they were poised to quit. The offer of a substantial raise increase was the only thing that had finally placated them.

"Trouble at home?" Vegeta asked snidely.

The younger man said with false enthusiasm, "Nope! Everything's just great!"

"Right." Dismissing him, Vegeta looked over at Trunks and cleared the distance. He grabbed the boys jaw and gently tilted his head one way and then the other, noticing the fading bruises on his throat. He released him and sighed. "How many hours in the park is this going to cost me?"

The answer was immediate: "Five."

"_Five?"_

"One for each finger."

Vegeta relented. ". . . Fair enough. You can invite Goten to tag along if you want."

Trunks' eyes got very wide. "Seriously?"

"I figure I deserve extra penance for hurting you. Chaperoning the two of you is as good a punishment as any," the Saiyan responded honestly.

"Wow! Thanks, dad! I'll go call him right now and find out when he's free." Like a shot, the boy flew up to the second floor and ran to his room. When he was out of sight, Bulma said, "I'll be tagging along to watch you guys, you know."

"Great."

"Can I come, too?" Goku asked hopefully.

Vegeta snapped his head around to glare at him. "Absolutely not. Haven't you ever heard of the expression 'five's a crowd'?"

"I thought it was 'three's a crowd'."

"It's a paradigm that applies to any odd number."

"No kidding?" Goku looked over at Bulma who offered an indifferent shrug. She didn't want her old friend to tag along either, but didn't really want to say it out loud. It was best to let Vegeta do the actual heart-breaking. "Aw . . ."

"Stop sulking. We need to talk. Outside," Vegeta said, heading to the balcony. When they were both out on the deck and the doors pulled closed, he said, "The stage three transformation . . . It's different than the others."

"Yeah," Goku confessed, scratching the back of his head.

"It hurts."

The younger fighter nodded gravely. "I never noticed it when I used the form in the afterlife," he said. "That's because I was, y'know, dead and all. It wasn't until I came back to Earth and used it in a physical body that I noticed what a toll it took on my system. That's why I had so much trouble powering up."

"You haven't used it since," Vegeta said, leaning against the railing and crossing his arms.

"No, it's not a form to use for sparring. It's pretty much reserved for last-ditch efforts. We haven't had one of those situations since Kid Buu."

"But Trunks and Goten can become Gotenks, and he's capable of maintaining the stage three transformation until the fusion wears off."

"That's because there's magic involved. If you and I learned the dance-"

"Not on a bet, Kakarrot. Our one fusion was more than enough."

"Aw c'mon, it wasn't so bad." Goku had sidled up to his short friend and playfully elbowed him in the ribs.

"Idiot," Vegeta muttered under his breath but didn't retaliate, a fact they both noted with surprise. Maybe it was because he was well-rested for a change, or perhaps because he was still savoring Bulma's earlier treat; all that he knew was that he was finding it difficult to get seriously angry.

"I think it's cool that we're back on a level playing field again," Goku remarked.

"Sure, until you trip over the next transformation and then I'll be spending the next few years breaking my neck trying to match it," the prince said bitterly.

"I don't think there's another level after this."

"You don't? Why not?"

"Our bodies can barely handle level three. It's just too much power for a mortal form to manipulate. That's why it only really works in the afterlife or when there's magic involved. Maybe there _is_ a level four but . . ." the fighter spared a glance towards Heaven and then looked back at him.

". . . We'll have to be dead to find out," Vegeta finished.

"_Been there, done that,"_ they said in perfect unison and then looked at one another, shocked.

Vegeta grunted and Goku burst out laughing, slapping his old rival in the shoulder. "I guess I'd better be heading back home," the younger man said. "Chi Chi probably has her hands full with Abo and Cado. I don't suppose-"

"Don't you dare send them here. I've got my own pair of misfits to deal with."

Goku's smile flagged, remembering Tarble and Gure. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry that things aren't really working out between you and your brother."

Vegeta looked away and didn't respond.

"It's gotten me thinking a lot about Radditz lately," he said slowly. "I'm really starting to regret my part in killing him. I didn't understand who or what he was, and I didn't take the time to find out. Piccolo and I should have gone about dealing with him in a different way . . . "

"It wouldn't have mattered. He was crazy. We both were back then."

"I'm just saying-"

"I know what you're trying to say, Kakarrot," Vegeta interrupted harshly and then dropped his voice to say in a calmer tone, "But there are some things that no amount of time can fix. Tarble has his life and I have mine. They are not compatible and neither are we. It's just the way of things sometimes."

"Huh. I guess I kind of understand that."

"Then we're done here."

Goku got the hint. "You know where to find me when you want to spar," he said and offered the other man a curt wave before winking out of sight.

For some reason Vegeta was under the impression that he wouldn't be going out of his way to look for a fight any time soon. He wanted to stay home and return to his usual routine: train alone, train with Trunks, and enjoy the time when he _wasn't_ training to be with Bulma. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders but he was damned if he could figure out what it had been.

_Do you want to know? Really?_ Bulma asked in the back of his mind.

_No,_ he thought again. Along with that came the reassurance that whatever had happened, whatever Gure had changed, it wasn't a bad thing. Perhaps even a necessary thing. He wasn't a coward and had never backed away from a challenge but he vaguely understood that it would be for the best if he didn't dig too deeply into this mystery. Everyone had gone out of their way to help him for probably good reason. Perhaps some things were best left alone.

He spared his adopted city a long appraising look. It didn't appear to have suffered any lasting damage from his insane power-up the night before. He absently wondered if anyone had been seriously hurt or killed and that made him falter. Since when had he started to give a damn about the humans? Not since wishing Earth back two years ago, at least. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, massaging away the stiffness. _I'm getting soft and sentimental in my old age, _he brooded. _In another few years I'll be just like_-

Tarble. He wondered how the younger man was adjusting to the loss of his tail. No doubt better than he was, that's for sure. He turned around and saw the odd couple in the living room talking to Bulma and felt his muscles immediately start to tighten up. Taking a deep breath, he reluctantly joined them.

"Brother," the small Saiyan greeted when Vegeta returned to the living room. "How are you?"

"Propriety dictates that I ask you the same thing."

"Ah! It gets better by the hour," he said, comically wiggling his behind.

Vegeta closed his eyes at the sight. "Don't do that."

Gure walked over and stood with her head craned up until he noticed her. "What?" he asked guardedly, forcing himself to remain in place and not betray his unease around her by taking a step back. Reading his apprehension, the little alien held her hands out, palms up. _I over-reacted the other night, Vegeta. I'm very sorry,_ she whispered into his mind, conveying her guilt and shame along with the exchange so that he would believe her.

_- You believed you were protecting your mate, _he responded frankly. _I don't precisely know what happened. I don't _want_ to know, but in the course of those events I achieved ascension. As far as I'm concerned, the slate is now clean between us. _He offered her a vague nod.

It wasn't exactly forgiveness but it was close enough to placate her. _–Thank you, Prince of Saiyans_, she said sincerely, adding a curtsey.

"We've come to ask when our space pods can be released," Tarble said, looking at Bulma.

Trunks pulled a face. "What? You're leaving?"

"I miss my kin," Gure said.

"But you haven't even been here a week!"

"It took us a year to get here and it will take us another to return," she explained patiently. "I have never left my home for so long a time. The silence in my mind actually hurts from their absence."

"And I won't let her travel alone," Tarble added, just in case there was any doubt that it wasn't a mutual consensus.

"I'll make a phone call and have the pods delivered here," Bulma said, surprisingly accepting of the decision. She stepped out of the room to make the necessary arrangements.

Trunks was surprised that she hadn't tried to talk the new arrivals out of leaving. He looked over at his dad and saw that he was regarding the pair with veiled eyes, apparently lost in thought. Tugging on his shirt, he whispered, "Aren't you gonna insist they stay, dad?"

Vegeta didn't answer. Meeting his brother's gaze, he walked over and said in a low voice, "Walk with me, Tarble," and left the room.

When they were out in the hallway, Vegeta stopped and said to him, "I've made peace with your mate. You and I are another matter."

Tarble looked down at his feet in shame. "I should never have said what I did-"

"For all their malice, they were just words. I physically attacked you. There was no call for me to do that," Vegeta said stiffly, staring at the far wall.

It was dawning on the younger Saiyan that his brother was trying to apologize. "I understand why you did what you did. I'm not angry at you."

Vegeta didn't appear to be swayed. "If you give me a day, perhaps two, I can collect the Dragonballs and make the wish that your tail be -" he stopped as Tarble fiercely shook his head. "Why not?"

"You gave me an amazing gift, Vegeta," he said, smiling sadly. "For the first time in my life I felt powerful, carefree, and alive in ways I'd never thought possible. It was an incredible sensation but I can see the danger in having that ability. It has the potential to be addictive. I understand now why you train as hard as you do. The sensation of true power is extremely appealing. If I had my tail back, I can't guarantee that I wouldn't seek out a way to feel like that again. I won't place Gure or her kin in jeopardy. I appreciate your offer, but I must decline. I'm perfectly happy without my tail."

"It took me years to adjust to the loss of mine," Vegeta admitted, speaking slowly. "After my defeat on Earth I went to one of Frieza's planets for aid, and when I emerged from the regeneration chamber the medical technician apologized for it not having healed my tail. I told him that it would grow back . . . but it never did. I've never understood why. I only know that-" He looked at Tarble and admitted, "Without it, I don't feel whole."

"Would having it back help or hinder your life here on Earth?" Tarble asked him.

_I think that Bulma could certainly learn to enjoy it_, was Vegeta's first thought but he realized that his younger brother was trying to make a different point. Having his tail back would create several dilemmas, the task of trying to explain it to Earthlings being just one among many. He would have to hide from the full moon each month, and be even worse company than usual while doing so. Ignoring an Oozaru change was hard on the nerves and difficult to resist, as Tarble had discovered. There was no place on this world for a Saiyan Great Ape to go rampaging around. Especially not one as powerful as the creature he would potentially become. If his power were to increase tenfold, and he had just achieved a level three transformation, there was no guarantee that this world would even survive such an event.

Tarble saw a range of varied emotions pass over the older man's face; frustration, regret, anger, realization. "What's inside of us is all that matters, brother," he said, thumping his chest for emphasis. "We aren't defined by _things_ but rather, by what we feel. You may have lost the throne, our people, your tail, but you do have your family. It's all that you'll ever need. We are all comforted by the love we have for each other. It sustains us through-."

"Tarble."

"Yes?"

"It's just as well that you're leaving."

"Oh? Why do you say that?"

Vegeta regarded him sourly. "Because if I have to listen to your sentimental bullshit for just one more day, I'll have to kill you. Or kill myself. Again."

"I know what you feel, even if you don't want to admit it," Tarble said with a slow grin spreading across his face. "After all, I'm you. Remember?"

"I'd rather not."

"I wouldn't have these emotions if _you_ hadn't had them first, brother. We are one and the same."

"Yin and yang . . ." Vegeta muttered under his breath.

"Who are they?"

"Never mind," he said, getting back to the matter at hand. "Once you return to Gure's world, what will you do about the remnants of Abo and Cado's army?"

"Gure's kin have probably already dealt with them. Only Abo and Cado were immune to their psionics. Once the soldiers leave, the planet will stay cloaked to prevent any future invasions," Tarble said, the pride in his adopted people was evident in his voice when he spoke of them.

Ever the pessimist, Vegeta persisted, "What if the soldiers are still there? Are you just going to rely on your wife and her people to protect you?"

"What else can I do?"

"I can show you a few things," the prince offered. "Give you some tips on how to get the maximum efficiency out of your defective power level."

"I'd like that," Tarble said honestly.

They went into the gravity simulator together. It had since been repaired, but for a change Vegeta wasn't interested in showing off his tolerance to high gravity. He genuinely wanted to help Tarble and just needed a large room where ki bolts could be fired without damaging any structures. The younger Saiyan had forgotten a great deal of his bodyguard's teachings and was reluctant to attempt even the simplest of hand-to-hand basics. Displaying an extraordinary amount of patience, Vegeta concentrated more on helping Tarble focus his waning ki reserves into firing several small, short bursts rather than wasting energy on one large blast.

"It's about timing and concentration," he instructed, holding up Tarble's arm and aiming it towards a target drawn on the far wall. "You don't need a lot of power to knock someone off their feet."

"Why would I do that?"

"It'll give you a head start so you can run away," Vegeta said scornfully, recognizing his younger brother's preference when it came to fighting: He preferred to avoid it at all costs.

"Oh."

Tarble's aim was just about as terrible as his power level. He managed twenty-two weak shots before exhausting his reserves and only five of them managed to hit the target. Still, Vegeta wasn't entirely discouraged. "With some time and practice, you should do better. I can only show you the basics. The rest is up to you."

Leaning up against the wall and gathering his strength, Tarble smiled weakly. "Thank you, brother. I promise to practice when we return."

Trying to submerge his irritation, Vegeta shrugged and looked away. A part of him had been hoping that they would have finally found some common ground during their little training session. It had only served to widen the gap between them. He couldn't understand how a Saiyan, even one as gentle as his brother, could treat the pursuit of power as a bothersome chore. "We're done here," he announced, unlocking the door. "Let's go into the kitchen. It's best to enter stasis on a full stomach."

Tarble responded to the prospect of eating with far more vigor than he did to the training.

Vegeta wasn't surprised.

* * *

Gure and Tarble's space pods were delivered to the backyard of the compound as soon as the meal was over, as if it had been planned that way. Bulma was normally a gracious host but she was aware that she had put this whole mess into motion by inviting the alien pair to stay at Capsule Corp. and now wanted her family's lives to return to normal as soon as possible. Like her husband, she had nothing in common with either Gure or Tarble and would privately be happy to see them on their way. She supposed that she should feel bad knowing that she would probably never see them again, but found that emotion curiously lacking. They were the final loose ends of a cruel monarchy and a war-torn star system. They really had no place here on Earth.

Staying near his father as he watched the pods being prepped for launch, Trunks absorbed the scene with uncharacteristic silence. His eyes darted over to his mother, up at his father, and back again. He was watching his parents acceptance of this sequence of events and feeling their restrained impatience and was trying to sort all out the paradox he was witnessing. He had learned from his mother, practically since birth, that family and friends were important. He could barely recall any times that his grandparents, or Goten, or the rest of Z Fighter's hadn't been around sharing stories and laughter. On the opposite end of the spectrum, his father seemed to thrive on a desperate separate identity. He seemed to convey, through actions and manner, that relying on one's own resources was all that an individual needed to survive. The couple were opposites if ever there were one.

Gure and Tarble were family and yet, in this rare case, his parents seemed united in their haste to let them leave. Trunks uneasily rubbed his neck where the bruises of his father's attack were still visible. It slowly dawned on him that the crazed conflict of the night before wouldn't have happened if not for the pair's unannounced appearance. His father had been out of sorts the moment they'd appeared and his mother hadn't been much better. Trunks had ended up getting hurt and all he could think of was that was the reason behind his relatives hasty departure.

He looked back up at his father, chewed on his bottom lip, and whispered, "Dad . . . is this my fault? Are they leaving because of me?"

Vegeta frowned at him. "Of course not. What makes you think that?"

"Things were fine until you- until I got hurt," he said miserably.

"You were a casualty of the situation, Trunks, not a catalyst. And things were most definitely _not_ fine even before the events of last night."

"Really?"

"Have I ever lied to you?"

"We-eee-ll . . ."

Vegeta's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Say your good-byes, boy."

Trunks got the hint. He ran over to where Tarble was getting Gure settled in her space pod and cleared his throat to get the other man's attention. When the small man turned to look at him, he held out his hand. "It was a pleasure knowing you-"

"Come here, nephew!" Tarble said and pulled the boy in for full body hug. Trunks was caught entirely off guard while Bulma laughed out loud at the shocked expression on her son's face. Trunks was used to being cuffed on the shoulder, which was about as affectionate as Vegeta got, and he found his uncle's affection utterly embarrassing. "Okay, okay! Jeez!" he sputtered, managing to push himself away from the innocent embrace. "Haveanicetripyoutwo," he said, backpedaling, and quickly retreated to where his father was standing.

"Smooth," Vegeta muttered.

Trunks ducked his head, his cheeks brilliantly crimson.

Bulma was still laughing when she easily exchanged hugs with the alien pair. "I made this for you," she said to Gure and handed her a gaily wrapped present.

"Oh! It's so beautiful! Thank you, Bulma!" the petite alien gushed, holding it against her flat chest and nuzzling the bow.

Struggling to keep a straight face, Bulma said, "Uh, that's just the wrapping paper. You have to tear it off to see the actual gift."

Gure's round face was utterly aghast. "But . . . this is too pretty to ruin."

"Honestly, you'll like the present better."

"Oh no, I couldn't rip apart such a painstakingly, thoughtful gesture as-"

"Gure, it's an Earth tradition to-"

Moving in with that unbelievable speed of his, Vegeta plucked the present out of the small alien's grasp, shredded the gold paper with one quick movement, and handed it back. "Problem solved," he said shortly.

"Vegeta!" Bulma hissed at him.

"_What?_ This is taking forever!" the Saiyan shouted back.

The exchange was lost to Gure when she realized what Bulma had given her. "Thank you, Bulma!" she said, holding a duplicate copy of "The Book" that chronicled her Earth's family's events over the last dozen years.

"I've included all of the pictures we've taken since you've arrived here as well," Bulma said, opening it to the last page that had the picture from Trunks cell phone of the two brother's sitting together out on the deck before everything had fallen to pieces. It was a fitting last image if ever there was one.

The two got settled in their space pods and finished preliminary launch diagnostics. Just before the door to Tarble's pod swung closed, Vegeta appeared and leaned in to stare at his brother directly. In a low voice he said, "If you encounter any of Abo and Cado's forces, let them know that I died on Namek. Understand?"

The small man looked astonished. "Why would I say such a thing? I'm happy that I found you!"

Vegeta scowled. "I know how fast word can spread along the space lanes and it wouldn't take long for the wrong people to listen. The penalties for planetary genocide have no expiry date. I know that countless systems exist that still curse my name to this day. I don't need them to rally together and come to Earth to settle an old score. It would end . . . badly."

Translation: There would be a high body count involved. Vegeta might be in self-imposed retirement on Earth but that didn't mean he wouldn't revert back to type if his family were threatened. Tarble certainly didn't want to be the one who could potentially put all that into motion with a careless slip of the tongue. "I can ensure that Gure's kin broadcast that I never found you, if you'd like. It would be subtle and put to rest the rumors that originally brought me here in the first place."

"That would be fine. Prince Vegeta of Planet Vegeta, Elite soldier of Frieza's Planetary Trade Organization is dead," he said. "On Earth, I'm just a non-entity. The husband of Bulma, father of Trunks."

"And brother of Tarble."

". . . Yeah. That, too."

"It will be done," the little Saiyan assured him, holding out his hand. "Thank you for all of your help."

Vegeta shook it but didn't offer any words of farewell. Just an absent nod. He returned to where Bulma and Trunks were standing and, as a silent unit, they watched the two pods blast out of the courtyard until they disappeared from sight.

There was almost a full minute of silence before Bulma finally announced: "Well, that's done." She looked over at the man beside her. "You okay, tough guy?"

"I'm fine," came the expected answer.

"Uh huh." She recognized that pensive, stolid expression on his face and turned to Trunks. "Let's get you inside, young man. With your relatives gone, you can't put off your homework any longer and I know that you have a report due in two days."

"Aw mom . . . "

"Have you even started it?"

"We-eee-ll . . ."

Bulma sighed and steered him in the direction of the building. "That's what I thought. When I was your age I did the same damn thing except in _those_ days . . ."

Their light banter continued as they went inside but Vegeta barely noticed. Head cocked back and arms crossed, he stood outside for a very long time, silently looking up at the azure sky, lost in thought.

* * *

Three days later, Vegeta honored his obligation to escort Trunks and Goten to the park. True to her word Bulma tagged along, and for that the Saiyan prince was privately grateful. The two little half-breeds wouldn't dare try even one-quarter of the shit they usually got up to with her included in the mix. The main reason was because of Goten's fear of his mother which carried over to any maternal figure. He deeply respected Bulma and would go out of his way to impress her. Without his usual partner in crime, Trunks had no choice but to cooperate.

For a change, the Paparazzi had dropped the ball and no cameras or film crews were in sight. Yet. The odd civilian whipped out their cell phone for a discrete picture of the wealthy family but were wise not to disturb them. The four enjoyed a filling picnic followed by a trip to the zoo. Vegeta had always avoided this particular area on principle. Animals were things to hunt and eat, not to stare at and fawn over, but he quickly discovered that these pathetic creatures behind their bars and glass were so apathetic that it was little more than one big petting zoo. He stuck to the paths with Bulma while the boys tested the limits of the barriers in their eagerness to see the various animals.

"One time when I took Trunks here I let him out of my sight for just an instant and when I looked back, he had escaped out of his stroller and was trying to climb into the polar bear exhibit," Bulma was telling him. "I just about had a heart attack!"

He frowned. "When was that?"

"Oh, years ago. Trunks couldn't have been older than three."

"You never told me that."

"Sure I did. It just went in one ear and out the other, as usual." She cocked a knowing eyebrow at him. "You and your training."

He grunted, staring over at a lion that was pacing impatiently back and forth from one end of its cage to the other. _It's bored_, he thought, making eye contact. _I know how your feeling._ The tawny cat froze in step and lowered it's head, fearlessly matching the gaze. Of the two Vegeta looked away first and the animal went back to its aimless circles as if the exchange had never happened.

"You know, I heard what you said to Tarble before they left," she said.

He stopped in mid-step and looked at her.

"You're not a non-entity," she continued.

"Since when have you developed Namekian hearing?"

She refused to be baited. Her vibrant blue eyes were trained on his face. "Seriously, is that what you think you are?"

"I think where Earth is concerned that you're the queen of this particular empire. I'm just your trophy husband."

"My trophy husband, huh? Jeez, what contest did I lose?"

"Har de har har," he sneered.

"Seriously, you helped build my so-called empire, remember? If I'm the queen, then you're the king. Fifty-fifty, buddy."

"I don't want anything to do with your business. That's all yours. And Trunks," he said stiffly.

"What if Trunks doesn't want to take over Capsule Corp.?" she mused. "I've been thinking about that a lot lately, especially since your brother showed up."

A look of alarm crossed the Saiyan's face. "There's absolutely no way that little wimp could run your company-"

She interrupted him with a surprised burst of laughter. "Oh, god no! That's not what I was thinking at all!"

"Good," he said in relief, instinctively looking for Trunks and Goten and saw that they had moved far ahead, racing to some unknown destination. That wasn't good. Distance lessened the intimidation factor that he and Bulma possessed and without the fear of reprisals, mayhem usually ensued. They had to get the two troublemakers back in close sight before-

"I want to have another child."

The boys were instantly forgotten as he swung his head around to gape at her. ". . . What?"

"Ah, you heard _that_. Good," she said with a gloating smile.

"You honestly want to get pregnant again? You told me that last time nearly killed you."

"Yes, I _told_ you because you weren't _there_." She saw the flash of anger in his black eyes and quickly added, "But this time will be different."

"Why's that?"

"Because you'll be with me this time, silly," she said, favoring him with a dazzling, broad smile. Her face was open, and trusting, and completely in love. With him. Just him. How could he not be affected by that?

The tense set of his shoulders eased as he stared back at her. "Yes, I suppose I will," he said, almost as a sigh.

She touched his bottom lip with a perfect nail. "You just 'suppose'?" she whispered, closing the distance between them. "Don't you know for sure?"

"It's a daunting request," he said, smirking slightly. "I might require some . . . persuasion to stick around."

"And what, pray tell, might pique your interest, my dear prince?"

"Oh, I could think of a few things."

"Naughty things?"

"Very."

"Uhm. Just how I like them," she gusted against his lips. They were poised for a torrid kiss when there was a sudden scream from the other end of the zoo. They blinked at each other as if coming out of a spell.

"Those damn brats," Vegeta snarled and ran off like a shot.

Bulma lost sight of him but it wasn't hard to puzzle out where he had gone. Everyone was rushing to the arctic exhibit and she kept even pace with the crowd. Movement slowed around the penguin pool and the people seemed to be gathering there so she elbowed her way to the front and found Vegeta staring down into the huge display. His hands were clasped around the railing so hard that the metal had buckled under his grip.

Trunks and Goten were swimming back and forth in the water trying to catch the frazzled birds. The boys were leaping and diving around and having the time of their lives.

"Hi mom! Hi dad!" Trunks said, adding a wave as he did the backstroke past the stunned audience.

Flashbulbs went off in a flurry and Bulma saw with dread that the cursed Paparazzi had finally made their appearance. Great. More articles for her mother to cut out of the next day's papers and put in "The Book". "Trunks! Goten! Get out of there right now!" she shouted down at them.

"Are you kidding? You're just gonna yell at us!"

_"I am not!"_

"You're doing it right now!" he shot back and the crowd tittered with amusement.

Goten put in his two cent's worth with: "The water's really nice, missus Bulma. You should join us. You can even take your top off like you do at the pool at home."

This time the crowd exploded into laughter while Bulma blushed.

Throughout it all, Vegeta was looking at his wife. "Another kid. Seriously."

"A girl," she responded. "I've come to the conclusion that all of you boys are insane. I want a daughter this time."

"I don't exactly have control over that, Bulma," he huffed.

"You want a repeat of _him?_" She pointed down into the exhibit where their son had managed to catch three stunned penguins and was trying to juggle them.

A muscle started jumping in the corner of Vegeta's jaw as he processed the request. "I'll do what I can," he finally muttered and vaulted over the railing to retrieve the two wayward exhibitionists.

In the chaos that ensued, on camera and on film (and later that evening, on the six o'clock news), Bulma had time to reflect that all relationships, for good or ill, carried memories that could later be evaluated, even savored. In a few days she would be laughing herself silly at the sight of Vegeta paddling around the penguin pool as he wrangled the two thrashing youngsters. In spite of some strained events, even Gure and Tarble had contributed their share of positive memories to the Briefs eclectic household and for that, Bulma was extremely grateful.

Yes, family was important. Even if all members did not get along, efforts had been made and she knew her troubled husband was now better for the encounter when all was said and done.

For that matter, they all were.

* * *

~ End.


End file.
